A Shoulder to Lean On
by P.A.W.07
Summary: It had been a surprise for Torn when the Ottsel came back to Headquarters … alone. It was also a surprise that he decided to care at all. No pairings. Based around Jak 2.
1. A lost Hero

Summary: It had been a surprise for Torn when the Ottsel came back to Headquarters … alone. It was also a surprise that he decided to care at all. No pairings.

Disclaimer: If only, if only, the plot bunny sings.

Rating: Teen

A Shoulder to Lean On

---

_Of a king and his loyal lords_

_He rules them with a pointed sword _

_And they always fight his worrying wars_

_Though it is in dismay _

_Once in a while, day to day_

_A horse comes back without its rider_

_So the king must transpire_

_Rise from his throne and take the reins _

_New is the day, the King must say_

_Then he leads the horse away_

_---_

"Ehag!" cried Daxter as he barely had time to dodge the knife that Torn had just thrown at him. "Jak, save me."

The rodent then proceeded to rush in his companion's direction, jumping onto the warrior's shoulder with the grace of a fruit bat. He then poked his tongue out at the Underground Leader as if mocking the ex-Krimzon Guard's stance in the Underground and all his power. Torn merely growled, and slowly, redirected his attention to the youth; he knew it was a useless vendetta to follow up on his threat to the rodent, Jak was one of his finest men and it was best to keep him in good graces. If that meant putting up with Daxter, so be it, but Torn had silently promised himself that if the ottsel was ever left in the barracks alone … well, he might just have a new hat.

"I take it the mission was successful," said Torn as he placed his hands back on his table, his eyes traveling over the map before him.

"Those KG didn't even know what hit them," said Jak with a tint of coldness in his voice. In truth, Jak liked dealing with Metal Heads over the Baron's guards, but as Samos had told him early on, sometimes you have to sacrifice a few for the good of the many. No matter how badly Jak didn't want to admit it, that innocent boy from Sandover was still deep in his chest, dying with ever pair of dulled dead eyes that would stare up at him.

Torn merely nodded his head, already knowing that was going to be the boy's answer. Jak never failed a mission. Never, but the elf was rather hard to get a hold of from time to time though, so he couldn't send the boy on all the missions he'd like to send him on. Apparently, according to some of the other Underground members that wander the streets unnoticed, Jak was quite popular. He did favors or jobs for pretty much anyone who was gutsy enough to ask. Well, since the teen was still standing before him, patient as a statute, it seemed that he didn't have any favors or jobs to fulfill for today. Perfect, it wasn't a big job he had in mind, but Torn didn't have anyone free that was experienced enough to go wandering around outside of the walls of Haven.

"You want to go play with some Metal Heads, Jak?" asked the Underground tactician as he stood up and crossed his arms over his chest.

Jak gave him that look that said, 'What do you think?'

"Good, now remember when you went out and opened the water to the slums," said the older man, his voice cracking in its usual manner. "Well, I sent one of my men out to make sure the Baron couldn't pull that little stunt again.; plus the idiot wanted to get some samples or something. Anyway, I got a distress call from him a few minutes ago, him rambling something about a huge Metal Head. So, he's stuck up there, trapped by some type of quote, 'monster with tentacles'."

"Yah, got it," said Jak, not even giving the mission a second thought as he headed for the stairs, Daxter chiming in his ear.

"Let's grab some soy sauce before we hit the outer walls, I have a feeling we're going to need it," said the Ottsel with a tint of jokery in his voice.

Torn could only shake his head at the vermin's strange definition of humor. Perhaps one day he'd ask Jak who taught that thing how to talk so he could shoot them, because with Jak's lack of a sense of humor, it sure wasn't him.

XXX

Daxter leaned forward on Jak's shoulder, his little body waving into each step in order to keep balance on his perch. He could feel his heart racing. Not with anticipation of the fight, but with a soft ache. It was just something that Daxter always felt whenever they would go outside the city walls to fight Metal Heads. It didn't hurt per say, but whenever Jak would scrounge up some dark eco from a downed Metal Head, Daxter's body seemed to pace in tune with the dark powers that were and would become Dark Jak.

Yet, despite this strange feeling, Daxter found no true reason to state his weariness when fighting outside the walls. Personally, if it were up to him, he'd rather watched Jak hand a few Krimson Guards their asses, but he wouldn't ask such a thing of his long time companion. When the eco channeler was out in the oozing wilderness, he didn't have to hold back, didn't have to worry about his actions or how hard to hit, and he didn't have to worry about Dark Jak's actions.

Yah, then there was Dark Jak. At first, the ottsel hadn't thought much of the hero's new 'addition'. To him it had seemed little more than a flashy new toy to play with. Daxter was sad to admit he was wrong. Dark Jak … Dark Jak was kind of his own being, yet he was Jak, which was okay to a part. The body borrower didn't seem to mind Daxter at all and that was fine with him, but that was when the ache started. It started the first time Jak transformed into Dark Jak. In the beginning, the ottsel ignored it. It wasn't 'really' hurting him and it would be a huge inconvenience, not to mention hazardous, if Daxter were to jump from his perch whenever Dark Jak decided to let himself be known.

So, over the weeks, the ottsel just let it be. That is until recently. Now, the ache seemed to be a pounding and Daxter found himself 'feeling' whenever Dark Jak wanted out. He truly felt it. Then there was the behavior of the intruder. Initially, Jak's other half didn't think much of the ottsel on his shoulder, it was as if Daxter was just body art. Then, as the feeling grew, one day the ottsel noticed that the beast hadn't play with his kill as long as he usually did. He had stopped just so he could 'pet' Daxter on the head, scratching behind one of his ears with his long nail as if rewarding the ottsel for something. Not that Daxter felt very rewarded, he had been scared out of his mind when the bulky beast had halted in his killings, standing still for a moment just so he could bring up one of those clawed hands, dark eco jumping everywhere, to scratch behind Daxter's ear before he returned to just Jak. Now Jak never truly recalled much when he was transformed and was quiet surprised when he saw the expression on his pal's face. He had even asked what was wrong.

Well, what was wrong? Dark Jak scratched behind his ear. He didn't draw blood, didn't growl at him, didn't throw him off, and didn't do anything that would be considered threatening. So Daxter, not wanting to worry his companion, said nothing. For a time, he even forgot about the strange reaction, until they went outside Haven's walls.

It had been the usual Metal Head ambush, the freaking monsters coming from everywhere. Yet, as luck would have it, before Jak even noticed he was getting low on ammo, Daxter felt Dark Jak coming on. It was the usual escapade after that, purple lightening exploding over Jak's form, his body violently taking a new shape, and Daxter's heart suddenly falling in tune with … the dark eco pumping through Jak's veins.

The battle didn't last long. In fact, it was almost sad how easy it was for Dark Jak to strike out with a single blow and take out half of the Metal Head ambush. Then, as soon as the last beast fell, its dark eco flying into Jak's form, Dark Jak didn't disappear like he usually did when all the enemies were gone or beheaded. He merely stood there, staring at the metallic tiling of the sewer floors as water dripped somewhere in the distance. Subsequently, before Daxter could even twitch, he noticed that those dark orbs were turned towards him, his form reflecting in those dark pools. For a second Daxter considered making a run for it, but before he could even move a leg, a clawed hand plucked him from his roost. The next thing he knew, Dark Jak was sitting on the damp floor, crossed legged, and using his thumb to try and wipe some grime that was sticking to the side of Daxter's cheek. The ottsel merely remained still, uncertain if he should even breathe. Yet, Dark Jak must have caught on to the ottsel's nervousness and started to scratch behind Daxter's ear. Slowly, despite himself, Daxter found himself leaning into it. True, he was not a true ottsel, but he still had the body of one and it felt nice. In fact, he was almost sad when the scratching stopped, making him look upward.

For a moment, as if time had decided to bury itself into the present, he saw Jak. Not the Jak that had been born from experiments in the Baron's prison, but the Jak from Sandover. It was the Jak without a voice, but a much happier Jak in a much happier time. True, Dark Jak didn't look like the youth of the past, but his smile, despite the shark-like teeth, as a smile the mute Jak used to say so many things with. Yet, before Daxter could even think of re-introducing himself to the mute body language Jak had once used and decipher what Dark Jak had just said with that grin, he found himself being plucked and put back on Jak's shoulder.

Without even a tint of warning, normal Jak blinked once, staring at the confused expression that had been on Daxter's face before asking, _"What's wrong Dax?"_

"_You don't remember?"_

"_Remember what?"_ said Jak, truly uncertain of what had just proceeded.

"Daxter?"

The little ottsel almost fell off of his roost when his mind was suddenly dragged back to the present. The boy-turned-pet blinked once at the face was now staring at him. It was Jak yet it wasn't Jak and could never be the Jak from Sandover.

"Is something wrong? You've been quiet for a while now?" said Jak as he stood near the door that led outside the 'safety' of Haven, watching as its gears clicked into place.

For a moment, Daxter was silent. His mind wanted to say something cocky or witty, but for some reason he didn't feel like smiling. He didn't want to be the only one smiling anymore.

"Just thinking, Jak. I'll tell you about it later," said Daxter, uncertain if he even had the guts to actually say anything at all. Maybe if Dark Jak did it again, maybe.

Jak merely smiled at his partner, shaking his head before the morning light bathed the two heroes as the doors opened to the outlands of the world, all it's nightmares included.

XXX

Jak shook his head as he stared down at the crumpled mass of elf hiding amongst the pipes. The hero generally didn't pay much attention to the other Underground members being that he was not a team player, but this fellow had caught his attention. No, it wasn't because he was some type of robust hero or twitchy genius, it was because he had been adorn in a Krimzon guard uniform. After tackling the guy and nearly taking off his head, Torn had managed to pull Jak off the stunned double agent. Diaz was his name and leaking information was his game.

Personally, Jak could have cared less after that. That is, until, Diaz had offered to buy his 'pet' ottsel from him. Apparently, he worked in the science division of the KG forces. That, in itself, was more than enough reason to hate him, but offering to buy Dax almost made Jak shoot him.

Now, it wasn't that Jak blamed anyone for calling Daxter a pet, because his childhood friend did look like one. It was just that every time someone said that, there was a silent taste of guilt on his tongue. He had promised Daxter that he'd help him get back to normal, even though that had merely been a nod of his head and a smile back then, but it had been about three years since then and Daxter was still an Ottsel; probably would forever be one too. It was just something Jak didn't like to think about so it had stung deeply for this madman to ask for his 'pet'.

It is easy to say that Torn wasn't very happy after Jak punched the guy in the face, but what would he understand. The ex-KG thought Daxter was little more than a glorified pet that had somehow learned to speak.

"Huh, so it's you?" said Jak as he placed his gun back in it holster, coming to a halt in the waste-lands of the pumping station, dust settling at his feet.

The scientist pulled up his face mask to properly show his displeasure as well.

"Tuh, I would have rather waited for Jinx … even though he was going to be gone for the next two days," grumbled Diaz as he pulled himself from his hiding spot amongst the pipes. He'd hate to look cowardly, but he was a scientist first and foremost. He was the guy a unit dragged around to fix some broken tech or ask for the quickest way to kill a particular Metal Head, not to personally kill the Metal Head.

"Well, the feeling's mutual," added Jak as his eyes swept the landscape lazily. "So, where's this 'horrible' monster?"

The man nearly retreated back into his hiding spot as a whine emitted from his throat. He had been fascinated by it at first, its many long limbs reaching up from the waters as if trying to grasp the heavens with its huge sucker. But that amazed feeling was short lived when he realized just how dangerous it really was.

"You didn't see it? It's been practically guarding the way down," said the scientific biologist as he took a step forward, glancing behind Jak, his face gaining a dejected look. "But … they probably scared it away."

Jak glanced over his should in an irritated manner, Daxter yipping as he looked as well. It was a small ambush that much was for certain. With a swift, accurate move, Jak pulled his gun from his holster and gave Diaz an annoyed look.

"I'll take care of this," said Jak, a thin stream of purple electricity running up his form and making a crown around his head for a split second. "You get back to Haven. What little Metal Heads that were in the way are gone now."

Diaz gave the elf before him a look, saying, "Is there something wrong with your head? You think you can take on all these Metal Heads by yourself? Just because I'm a scientist before a soldier doesn't mean I'm not a sold-"

"Now," came a low growl from Jak as Dark eyes turned in the direction of his unwanted company, electricity starting to jump around his form in a more noticeable manner.

"Kay," said the Biologist as he jumped down to the nearest ledge, his hands shaking as he took off running. He wasn't running because of the other's threat … his scanners had been picking up large amounts of dark eco. Was this boy, could he be, was it possible … was he the Baron's escaped lab rat? Well, one thing was for certain, Diaz was ecstatic. Observing the boy would be far more entertaining than trying to obtain the rare ottsel specimen.

Jak merely growled in contentment, his fingers twitching with what could be called little more than excitement. Daxter merely crouched down on his perch. He had known this was coming the moment Jak stepped out of the doors, Dark Jak all but howled in demand, in want, in lust, to be allowed out. Jak rarely, if ever, released him within the walls of Haven, so that was why the beast inside was all but clawing at Jak's skin. It wanted out so badly and Daxter could feel it. He didn't even twitch when Dark Jak was born into the morning air, his claws raining down before his feet barely had time to change.

Soon there was a squeal and a spray of black blood as one Metal Head went down. Another fell afterward, followed by another and another. Daxter merely pulled his ears back, drowning out the sound of passing souls. It would end soon enough, Dark Jak's lust for blood and eco would be filled and he would pass like so many times before. That way Daxter wouldn't have to think about that innocent smile, young Jak's smile.

It seemed he wouldn't be allowed such folly today, Dark Jak had suddenly stilled. Daxter nearly jumped out of his skin when Dark Jak rubbed his head against his small furry body, a purr echoing in the beast's throat. It was easy to say that Daxter's heart skipped a beat, falling out of tune with the dark eco rushing through Jak's body. Dark Jak couldn't help but cock his head in confusion, his hand reaching out and plucking the ottsel away from his shoulder. For a moment, those dark orbs stared at the furry companion as if the dark creature was confused. A soft humming came from Dark Jak's throat and he brought a clawed finger forward, using it to force the ottsel to look at him.

Daxter felt an eternal shame rise in his chest as he stared at that confused, almost mute Jak expression on Dark Jak's face. He wanted to hate this beast before him, not for being a cold blood murderer, not for being voiceless, not for having young Jak's grin, not for anything but the fact that he was a reminder. A reminder and a punishment for being too slow and too stupid, for not getting Jak out of the Baron's prison fast enough. Jak rotted in there for two years … two years.

"Please don't smile at me. What are you thanking me for? For allowing you to be?" said Daxter, a coldness dripping in his voice. He had realized what that smile had meant now that he was getting a good look at it.

The smile dropped from the being's face for a moment and he flopped down on the ground, dandelion seeds and dust rising around his dark form. The eco-freak smiled again, placing Daxter on the ground so he could start ruffling the ottsel's fur in a childish manner, that mute smile returning.

Daxter signed, irritated. What was wrong with this beast? A moment ago he was cutting thought Metal Heads as if they were little more than tissue paper, and now he was petting him as if he were the cutest little buddy in the world. Despite himself, Daxter allowed his angry stance to sag, and he flopped down onto the earth, looking up at the strange beast before him. Dark Jak purred in his throat at Daxter's submissiveness and patted his head once more, electricity dancing thought the ottsel's fur. Dark Jak than moved his attention to that hard to reach spot between Daxter's shoulders with one of his dark nails, probably trying to get a grin out of his partner in crime. Despite himself, the Ottsel smiled.

"Yah know … maybe I won't tell Jak quite yet. He never scratches behind my ears or anything. He still sees me as his elf pal from Sandover. The truth is … I'm an ottsel and I'm an elf, aren't I?" asked Daxter, a sad tone roaming into his voice as he looked up to his mute companion for answers.

Dark Jak was still as if thinking, but then his smile dragged from ear to ear, dagger teeth gleaming in the morning sun.

Daxter sighed, "Either you have no idea what I was saying or you are mocking me."

Ignoring the rodent's angst, Dark Jak raised to his feet, the same cocking grin on his face. Yet as he started to reach for his partner, his fingers half wrapped around the fury being, something burst from the water's just beyond the cliff, spraying the two companions in polluted water. Just catching sight of what had risen from the waters, the huge tentacle just hanged there as if looking at its two guests. Dark Jak barely had time to growl in defiance, electricity jumping across his fingers, when the slimy limb lurched forward, warping itself around the dark being's waist. For an instant, Dark Jak merely stood there, staring at the thing around his waist in shock and accidently dropping Daxter in his surprise.

Yet, as it seems to be fate's cruel prank, the demon teen could not lash out and cut the limb from his mid section. Instead, the creature hidden still within the water, however huge it may be, gave a tug which caused the dark hero to be slammed face first into the dirt causing him to be momentarily disoriented. The last thing Daxter saw of his child hood friend was Dark Jak's surprised eyes, claws clutching to the edge of the earthly ledge, before he was drag down to the waters below. Not a sound was made, not a scream or cry, just a splash, a shivering cold splash.

XXX

Torn sat with his feet on his desk, the light from the lamp above dimmed. It was rare that he had free time to actually sit and clean his gun anymore. Generally, at times like these, he was on a mission, but ever since Jak had shown up there had been occasions for free time. In fact, way too much free time, maybe he should go out for the evening and steal Krimzon Cruisers. That would certainly piss off the Baron; especially after they'd find a few of them covered in graffiti saying that 'the Baron likes wearing women's panties'. Childish, yes; fun, most defiantly.

But, before the man could finalize that idea or not, he heard the soft hiss, the front door to the Underground Base opening. He reached for his gun automatically, but he wasn't really worried. It had been a few hours since Diaz had returned, and it was no doubt Jak following in the rear and looking for a place to sleep. It was not a rarity to find the young elf in one of the bunks from time to time. Torn had been wanting to ask if the teen had a place, but hadn't really been worried enough to ask. Jak seemed fed so what did it matter that he was sleeping at the base from time to time.

Strangely, there was not the usual sound of Jak's heavy, mud-covered boots coming down the stairs though. It was just a soft plopping noise like someone was dropping a soaking rag on each step. The elf's ear's tilted back slightly, now this was unusual. Slowly, despite himself, Torn found himself leaning forward in anticipation and a little dread. What could this be?

He got an answer rather quickly and the man couldn't help but lean back in his chair with a sigh while staring at the entering ottsel which looked like it had been half drowned in polluted eco water. It was just the rat.

Wait … just the rat? Now, that was unusual. Daxter knew Torn would kill him just for his annoy behavior alone, why would he come here with his bodyguard?

"Tuh, so it's you. Where's Jak?" said Torn raising his brow.

After a moment of stillness, the commander looked up again, slightly irritated. The rodent was still standing there, on the last step, his form half hidden in the darkness.

"Well, where's Jak? I don't have all night," said Torn as he rose from his desk to get a better look at the flea ball before him. But, he couldn't help but stall in his tracks when he heard what sounded like whimpering coming from the ottsel. The elf almost drew back in surprised. He had never even seen the rat reveal sadness in front of him, yet here he was, crying like a lost child as he stared at his feet.

"Daxter … where's Jak?"

XXX

Paw07: Dang, I don't know about you, but I love the idea of Dark Jak's affection towards the ottsel. Had to throw that in there for a little mystery before I killed our hero off. :3 You know, I know I should feel bad about doing Jak in, but for some reason I just can't. Anyway, drop a review if you like it; I know I won't be getting a lot of reviews being that this section has slowed down, but all reviews are welcome even constructive criticism.

Also, so there is no confusion. No, there will be no slash – maybe if you squint – but this is mostly a brotherly love/companion fic. If you asked me there just aren't enough of those kinds of fics on FF anymore.

Edit: Made some spelling corrections.


	2. Follow After

Chapter 2: Follow After

XXX

"Daxter … where's Jak?"

They had seemed simple, yet slightly worried words when Torn had uttered them. The story he got from the ottsel had been broken up in sobs and whimpers. Apparently, after the little beast had finally stopped crying out Jak's name after the hero had been pulled into the water by some unknown beast. The rodent then waited for hours for a head to bob above the water, expecting a silly grin on his companion's face. Yet, there wasn't even another ripple from the water's surface. Not even a fair patron of hope. Daxter couldn't help but state that he soon became so desperate that he dove into the water's expanse searching for what felt like an eternity. It wasn't until he gained the notice of some Metal Heads that he had been force to return to that casket … to Haven.

The rat had been silent for a few seconds before admitting that he had just stood there within the walls of the polluted city, its filth spread not just in the the waters but in the hearts of its people. Daxter said he could barely stand it, and if it weren't for the Metal Heads that had chased him up to the door, he would have returned outside. In the end, not knowing what to do or where to go, the ottsel let his feet lead him because his mind didn't know where to go.

Torn pushed the ottsel's tale to the back of his mind as he stared at the bed and the little ball that was laid on top of it. Daxter hadn't spoken much after his account and hadn't moved for hours. He just lay there, silent as if he was a corpse that had died with Jak. The ex-KG sighed and looked away. He had called Ashelin and some of the other marksman to come to the Underground headquarters. Mostly, he got a lot of pissed early-morningers to his early request, but he had managed to get a few people to come nonetheless.

A few minutes later, a rather grumping looking Ashelin and two other late night Underground members came the door sluggishly. For a moment, the three of them gathered around Torn, yawning, growling about aching backs.

"Okay," said Ashelin as she put her hands on her hips, running her hand through her bed-head hair. "What's this about? It better be good Torn or you might just find a Metal Head in your bed one morning."

The commander tried not to growl as he looked up at the woman. He wasn't in the mood to deal with the maiden's bull headed-ness.

"I'll give it you straight," said Torn as he looked them all in the eye. "Daxter came back without Jak. Apparently, Jak is still up there. I don't know if he's dead or injured or what. The rodent wouldn't say much about the what or where except that Jak was pulled into the water by the pumping station. I want you guys to go up there and see if the kid's okay … or if we are going to need ceremonial candles."

There was a moment of silence between the four Underground soldiers. Jak had come back many a times with bleeding lesion and gorging wounds, but he had always come back. It was as if no injury could stop the youth; that was why Torn secretly believed the youth to be dead. Jak had to be and despite the short time in knowing this new hero, the Underground commander couldn't help but feel a bit saddened by the news. Jak had been young. It was always sad to see the young die so prematurely.

"You got it," said Ashelin, her gaze a little softer now. "We'll be back before day break. Hopefully with good news."

XXX

Torn groaned once more as he looked at the pile of possible missions on his desk. He hadn't seen such a pile in a while and he knew why. About two days ago he sent Jak on a mission and the kid didn't come back. He'd usual send the newcomer out on a few of the missions and before Torn knew it, he'd have more time to think up truly childish pranks to pull the Baron. Well, the time to play was over. He had things to do.

Torn slowly stood up, cracking his neck. He had been staring at the plans for a few hours now. Unlike Jak, he just didn't run in there, guns blazing, and take out every guard in a two block radius. He snuck in like a snake, remained in the air ducts for an unfortunate guard to come past and later find himself down to his skiddies tied up in a weapon's closet. That was how he pulled off so much crap. He'd generally sneaked in, plant some bombs, and disappear before anyone even noticed. Despite a smelly suit on occasion, it was rather easy since his feet still remembered their days as a Krimzon Guard.

So, the elf started walking forward towards the exit, weapon at his side. Then as he walked forward, the door whispering softly as it slid open, he nearly fell down the stairs when a figure popped in front of the exit. For a minute, Torn stood there, his heart calming down from the shock. Quickly regaining his cold composure, he spoke, "Hey Sig, you look like crap. You run the whole way here?"

Sig struggled to capture his breath before his metallic eye fell on the man, him stating simply, "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" said Torn as he pushed pass the larger man, his eyes squinting as he looked upward at the dull grey clouds.

"Jak isn't dead, is he?" said Sig, a truly pained look on his face.

The Underground commander stared at the sky for a moment, his eyes widening when the wind blew revealing the blue sky. The kid had blue eyes. Torn remembered that much. If he weren't so cold and broken, the commander might have turned the teenager away when they first met. Those kid's eyes were unlike any others as if they had been dyed their color from forever staring at a navy sky, a blue sky which Torn could never see but in small glimpses. Haven was a dark city and it hid the endless sky as much as it could in a collection of pollution and zoomers.

Slowly, Torn's eyes turned soft and he said to the old hunter, "Sorry Sig, I know you liked the kid, but he went out on a simple mission to pick up a man near the pumping station and … never came back."

Sig's one good eye narrowed before you spoke, "Are you sure? People are thought dead all the time when they go out to there. Are you positive? I'll go myself if I have too."

Torn was silent before his lips dared to part, his usual scratchy tone returning, "Yah, the rat told us so, and I also sent a few men up to look for him."

Sig's huge form seemed to sag. A heavy sigh escaped him and he stared at the grime on his heavy metal-toed boots for a moment. Then, as if all sorrow had been forgotten, he looked Torn in the eye saying, "Then I want to know what killed the kid so I can kill it."

The ex-KG nodded, simply replying, "I'll talk to the rat quick. He saw it."

The stairs squeaked lightly as the ex-KG made his way back into the dim underground. Torn almost felt blind returning to darkness of headquarters, but he wasn't sightless long enough not to noticed the lump beneath one of the covers on one of the bunks. Was that the same bunk Daxter had been laying on two days ago? Hadn't he moved?

"Daxter," said Torn as he took the last step down. He stood there not wanting to wake the beast. Last time he tried to wake Jak and the rodent, the little beast tried to bite him.

"Wake up rat. Sig has a question for you," continued the man, not taking another step towards the bed and its shadowed aura.

After a moment there was silence, and the elf finally gave in. Slowly, his fingers reached forward and he poked the pile of fluff with on finger irritably. Only, he wasn't bitten. In fact, the little pile seemed … cold and wet. His mind dripping with a mixture of worry and curiosity, Torn got on one knee and pull the sheet off, expecting a string of curses to come from the small rodent. Instead, the only sound to escape the small creature was raspy breaths. The commander's cold disposition quickly dropped as he took one of his knuckles and made the ottsel look upward. Daxter's breath sounded even shallower now that the creature wasn't in a ball. The little rat's eyes were also crust over in green gunk and he was also damp, covered in what looked like polluted eco run off. Daxter had been in the water after all.

After dropping the sick ottsel's chin, Torn made his way back up the stairs, as cold as usual. Perhaps, Sig wouldn't be getting that revenge he wanted after all. The ex-KG was no vet but he knew a dying animal when he saw one.

The door quickly slid open as Torn's heavy boots returned to the outside earth. It took the soldier a moment to find Sig; the hunter having collapsed against the alley wall as a backrest, gripping his gun at his side.

"Well what kind of Metal Head was it?" said Sig as he stared at the dirt before him, his grip tight on his gun.

"I'd love to tell you Sig, but the rat doesn't look like he'll survive the night," said Torn simply, showing no emotional connection whatsoever as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Sig just looked at the other man for a moment, his electric eye buzzing, and then he rose to his feet, ready to see for himself. Regardless of Torn's personal dislike for the rat, he found himself following the larger elf down the stairs. When he finally got to the last step he nearly crashed into the slightly older man who now had a bundle of blankets in hand. It was easy to say that Sig actually looked … sad when he looked up at Torn. A sigh escaping, Torn looked in the bundle of blankets and the small bundle of sick animal in them.

"Yah know," said Sig his forlorn look dragging itself onto his features. "Some pets follow their masters in death."

"Yah, real sad," said Torn as he leaned against one of the bed posts, not really paying attention. If he was lucky the hunter would grow a soft heart and take the beast with him, but hopefully not the sheets with him. What? He wasn't the shopping type. He could go out and buy a gun without a second thought, but sheets or interior decorating … don't hold your breath.

Sig gave Torn a look, knowing all too well that the elf was being sarcastic, but he wasn't about to give up on the little guy. Daxter had been good to the group, good to Jak; he wouldn't allow the little soldier to die without a fight. Or at least he wouldn't allow Torn too. Sig had an appointment in the wastelands he had to keep. He lost one good kid today, but he wouldn't stop looking for the other like he had promised.

"Glad you agree, Torn. Here," said Sig as he started to hand the bundle of Ottsel to the surprised commander.

"Woh, woh," said Torn as he backed up, waving his hands in front of him. "I have missions to take care of, KG to blow up, Erol's ass to kick, and the Baron to irritate. I don't have time to babysit a rat."

"Well, that's good, I don't have a rat," said Sig with a slight mocking sneer as he drew closer to the other elf.

Torn just continued to back up until he suddenly slammed into something solid. The elf only had time to look backwards to see that he had ran into his desk when the next thing he knew Sig was almost chest to chest with him, the ottsel between them like an abandoned child.

"You are going to take Daxter, clean him up and feed him until I come back, alright?" said Sig, his usual warm exterior seemingly dead.

It was easy to say, there would be no way around this. As if taking something diseased thing, Torn put his hands out and took Daxter. For a moment he stood there, ears pulled back slightly, a pissed look in his eyes, and a frown on his face, but Sig just laughed patting the other elf on the shoulder as if he was a new mother holding her babe for the first time.

"Now take care of the little ottsel until I get back. He can come with me if he wants, but until then we owe Jak so it's veterinarian for you," said the bulky man as he made his way towards the door, his fake grin threatening to fade at the thought of the boy. He'd ask Daxter what had taken Jak's life and get some revenge, but first the little ottsel had to heal before such a quest could begin.

"B-but I don't know anything about pets," added Torn, trying one last ditch effort to get rid of the pest.

Sig didn't even turn around. He just waved his hand and continued to walk up the stairs as if he hadn't heard a thing of what the underground commander had just said. Soon, small waves of light rained down into the cold grasp of the underground headquarters, just to disappear as quickly. Torn just continued to stand there, hoping Sig would come back.

After a minute of silence, the elf gave up with a groan and headed over to his desk. He pulled a chair over to his desk and flopped down, still holding the rat. With a cold disposition, he stared at Daxter. He watched the small creature bring in a few exhausted breaths before the ex-KG gave up in defeat, placing the little beast on the table, forgetting him.

A few minutes later the elf returned; a small bowl in hand. He placed the steaming bowl of soapy water on the table and dampened a rag in the concoction. Placing the sheet and rodent on his lap, Torn started to use the rag to slowly clean the fur around the ottsel's face. After a few wipes the little rat started looking like an ottsel again.

"Huh, there you are Daxter," said the elf in almost a mocking tone, "wasn't exactly sure it was you being as quiet as you were."

Daxter said nothing to the comment. He was dreaming … dreaming of Sandover. He was all alone, all alone, the skies ever grey. He had been looking for Jak with a maze always in his way, but he couldn't find it in his heart to stop looking. Yet, he suddenly found himself looking upward from the grey mists surrounding him when a warmth suddenly dripped down his face. Daxter couldn't help but smile … the skies were blue like Jak's eyes.

"J-jak," came a weak whisper from the sleeping being.

Torn drew back slightly in surprise as Daxter spoke in his sleep, one of his paws suddenly wrapping around the finger the commander was using to clean off the slime. Despite his cold exterior, Torn had to admit that he admired Daxter for one thing, never mind all his faults. Daxter was loyal, a loyal pet.

"Calm down little guy," said Torn, his body shifting underneath the light of the lamp above. "It looks like you might just pull through the night."

XXX

Paw07: Not much to say, hope everyone seemed in character though.


	3. Caring

Chapter 3: Caring

XXX

Why do people care? Why do people resort to any emotional attachment at all? Torn was sure he had once known that answers to such questions, but in time, after seeing all those people fall to beasts and murders that dared to call themselves protectors … his emotions wavered and fell under the waves. All that was left was the brislings anger that stirred the waves above like a storm, drowning any ship that dare to drive its sails near the deep abyss where he buried his emotions like a sunken treasure.

… What did an Underground soldier need with emotions anyway?

"If it's not dead already, you are going to suffocate it if you keep wiping its face with that wet wash cloth."

Torn started at the sudden noise, his hand dropping the wet rag he had been cleaning Daxter with. Said hand then, automatically, went for the hunting knife at his side. He nearly threw it, as well, if it weren't for a pair of soft eyes didn't suddenly meet his. For a moment he was still, just staring at the cold glare planted on him. Straightening up, he looked the female gun slinger up and down. What was Ashelin doing here? She wasn't supposed to show up until early tomorrow morning …

The elf blinked as a realization hit him: light was pooling in through the cracks in the foundation. It was morning. Had he spent all night cleaning the rat?

"Don't patronize me," scoffed the man as he tried to recapture a little bit of his pride despite the fact that Dexter was still clutched in a child like grasp. "If I wanted to kill it, it would already be dead."

The lady hell-fire scoffed and came forward, her fingers easily taking Daxter from the man. She looked at it for a moment, noting that the creature looked surprisingly clean for being so sick, except one thing. She took the cleaning rag from the ex-Krimzon Guard and started to wipe at the eyes which were coated in a slight blackish film, "You know, except for Metalheads, Ottsel's are the only other creatures that can handle dark eco polluted waters. True, they will get sick if they are in there too long, but they won't be electrocuted like you or I would. This film around his eyes is proof of just how easily ottsel's can channel the stuff … its seeping out of every pore, including his eyes, but no killing him. That's why, as often as you try to clean their eyes, the black stuff will keep showing up. You know when they're better when they finally open up their eyes."

Torn watched the hardened maiden for a moment, reviewing her words, before asking, "And how would you know that, and why should I care?"

Strangely, a small smile rose on her lips to his question. It was a soft, almost sad, smile. In fact, it was a reminiscing grin; a lost past. Ignoring the second part of that question, Ashelin replied, "When my mother was still alive … and before my father," there was a pause, the wild beauty's face taking on several expressions until it settled on a withdrawn air, "_became_ the elf he is today, I use to beg to go outside the walls and into the forest. I liked the see the animals … what was left of them at least. My mom use to say I would have made a good vet. Anyway, during one journey I found this ottsel nest that had been flooded from a heavy rain the night before. Dad could have cared less … but mom helped me gather them up. We spent all night researching the little 'rats' as you call them. Looking through those books and files with my mom … was one of the single happiest moments I had with my mother before she left."

For the first time in a long time … Torn felt the slight sting of shame. So that was why he was supposed to care, because _she_ cared. Looking at the floor and trying to will away the unusual feeling twisting his stomach, Torn asked in a softer voice, "So … you are a real wiz on these ottsels, aren't you? You want it until the sand lizard comes back?"

Pursing her lips for a second, as if in thought, Ashelin replied, "Yes, I am knowledgeable on the subject. In fact, it looks like you are a slight _wiz_ as well. You have the perfect bedding; the shoebox is nice, warm and dark so Daxter can rest as if it were a burrow. You are using the right soap, gentle to live animals, and from this dish in the side of the box you have an idea of what ottsels eat."

"Jak didn't really have his own residence, if you know what I mean. So I got to know both the boy and his pet's diets rather well," stated Torn dryly, wondering if this distant nature to the question of ownership meant she didn't want Daxter.

The soldier nodded, stating flatly, "To bad he can't eat any of it right now, too weak. You'll have to feed him something easy to swallow. Warm milk should do fine. Use an eyedropper and just a little bit at a time, when he starts getting stronger, mash up some vegetables or fruit. Then, when he's strong enough, he can have nuts, raw vegetables … no beans, and insects. Ottsel's love insects, the crunchy ones in particular. Now, did you get all that?"

The man eyed her warily. If Ottsel's liked insects … why were their even any in the base? "Yes, but you still haven't answered me about taking …"

"Good. It should be easy for you to take care of Jak's pet then," said Ashelin as she rose to her feet, gently placing the 'pet' back in the box before giving Torn a forlorn look.

"Good?" growled the man, his husky voice carrying through the empty room. "What do you mean, good?! I have better things to do than babysit a rat."

Ashelin gave him a dry look, her arms coming upward and crossing over her chest, "What I mean is that it's good that you have to personally take care of something. Maybe if you can relearn to care … maybe you can learn about other emotions again. I won't wait forever, Torn."

Torn could not watch her as the Krimzon guard walked out of the room. He couldn't even look at her back as she halted before the door. He couldn't even look up when the door swished close, Ashelin gone. It was not a secret amongst the men … Ashelin loved Torn, but she was afraid he did not know the meaning of the word himself and so stayed away. It was a bitter truth he ignored and had never truly bothered him … until now. For the first time in a long time, he felt shame.

XXX

He took Ashelin's advice with the eyes and had cleaned them twice today; taking special care to make sure the base was empty before he did such. He didn't' know why, but he was far too proud to be caught taking care of the rat, especially after what Ashelin had said. He didn't know what part the conversation truly got to him: the part that he was actually upset by her words or that he was considered emotionless. He felt emotions … he felt rage. He always felt rage it seemed.

Looking around the room once more as if seeking out an invisible Underground member, he reached for the shoebox with a few holes in the top which was hidden down by his feet. He quickly took off the lid, his heart skipping a beat, because every time he opened that lid he thought that the ottsel might be dead, yet every time he opened it … Daxter was still taking shallow little breathes. He didn't know why, but he was always relieved to find it alive, and not because Sig had threatened his life, but because it made him feel … fulfilled.

Maybe Ashelin was right, which reminded him. He needed to see if he could feed the little rat. He had wisely stated that he needed supplies, of the food kind, and gave the assignment to the kid he called Squirt. Squirt was only eight when he came to the Underground, claiming he wanted to fight for the cause. Torn … couldn't send an eight year old out for espionage, but neither could he leave the young elf out on the street. From that day forward, everyone used the kid as an errand boy … a spoiled errand boy.

For some reason, a soft smile crawled onto his face as he thought of Squirt's grin when he had given him the list. It was hard not to grin back with how silly the red head looked missing a few of his front teeth. Pushing away the fuzzy feeling that he found oddly disturbing, he went to warm up some of the milk. After making sure it wasn't scalding, he picked up the rat in one hand the eye dropper in another. He brought the small tool to the 'pet's' mouth, expecting Daxter to start suckling it like a baby would when faced with a bottle. It didn't take. In fact, when he tried to press it against the rodent's mouth, Daxter turned away whimpering.

Torn found himself quickly troubled. Maybe he should have asked Ashelin to show him how to feed the rat … or maybe he wasn't doing anything wrong. Maybe Daxter was dying. He picked up the communicator and called the only person he thought qualified for the problem. He had tried his best to sound cool and composed, stating that there was a special patient that needed attention.

Now that he was over his initial panic … no, panic was the wrong word. He didn't panic, he was slightly paranoid. Yes, he was worried about Sig's wrath. He didn't truly care about the rat. No, years of heartlessness would not be unwound by a simple ottsel. Either way, he felt slightly foolish for calling up his double agent for something like an ottsel. In fact, it was foolish, not to mention dangerous. He only had Dash, a field medic, come over if his expertise was required. Perhaps, he should call the elf back and tell him he …

Suddenly, door swung open, and Torn found himself wilting when he heard how rushed the feet were. Like he said, he only called Dash when his expertise was absolutely necessary: person bleeding to death was usually the necessary. Ugh, maybe he could stab himself and cover up his moment of weakness with the ottsel. It would not bode well to seem like a weak hearted leader.

A tall elf dressed in a Krimzon guard uniform was quickly jumping the last step, his ears perched up. He threw his helmet onto a nearby bed, looking around. Then meeting Torn's eyes, he quickly asked, "Are you injured. You seem … pained."

_Only my pride_, thought Torn as he shook his head, earning a confused look from the other elf.

"Then who is it? Are they even in the base? Are they heading this way … are they already dead?" said Dash, his face holding a worried expression.

Torn shook his head, sighed, and took his head in his hands. Then, swallowing his pride, he looked the other elf in the eye and stated, "Nobodies dead or dying … or even bleeding for that matter. I need you for … something a little different."

Dash stood there a moment, just blinking in utter confusion. Then, as if someone has slapped him in the back of the head, Dash had placed one and one together. He shook his head, dry laugh on his lips as he took off his gloves and threw them on a bunk in a lazy manner.

"You know," said the double agent, "I ran the whole way here thinking I was going to find a pool of blood on the floor."

Dash shook his head again, as he started to look the other elf up and down. Torn was getting older so, as an experienced medic, he should have seen this coming; especially with the way Torn seemed to be fidgeting right now.

Walking forward and placing his medical bag on Torn's desk, he gave a lazy grin to the other before stating, "Well, I'm glad that a man of your age is starting to worry about such things, but you could have told me you only wanted a check-up."

Torn's eyes got wide, he cringed back slightly. It was times like these that he recalled that Dash was, indeed, a fully trained doctor and not just a field medic. Ugh … he had a hate for needles every since he had had his tattoos done. He'd rather take a gunshot then a needle. The thought of something stealing or placing something unknown in his bloodstream was disturbing. Call him paranoid if you must, but he hadn't survived this long for now reason.

"T-that's not what this is about. I don't feel unwell … and what do you mean a man of my age?!"

Dash shook his head, his latex gloves snapping as he finished putting them on. He had seen Torn cringe away. Many people would think it cowardly, but they hadn't had the Krimzon Guard tattoos put on, now did they? It was a rather extremely unpleasant experience. Many people passed out from the pain alone, and it was not uncommon to have soldiers with slight phobias of needles afterwards.

"No need to feel embarrassed, Torn, "said Dash with a slight chuckle, this whole thing making him think that Torn must be bashful given his 'secretive' nature. "Now, are you sure you haven't been feeling ill? Any strange colds, swelling, pains, knife wounds? Why don't you strip down to your knickers and sit on a bunk so I can start the checkup?"

An expression, one that probably belonged to a dying animal, covered the ex-Krimzon Guard's face for a moment before he shook his head, "No, no. I don't need a check up."

"Sure you do. Now, hurry up and strip, I want to get to my boys tonight," said Dash, trying not to laugh. Oh, this was just too good. Never had he saw Torn get so flustered. He wished he had a camera.

Torn, not liking the gleam in the medic's eye, suddenly grabbed Daxter's box off the desk and all but pushed it into the approaching man's chest. Dash stood there a moment, staring at the box in question before, he took it, "What's this?"

"Your patient … I couldn't think of who else to ask that wasn't on a mission."

The medic opened it, his eyes getting wide, before stating, "An ottsel? I don't know much about ottsel's, Torn. I mean, I can patch up a gunshot with ease, but an ottsel … let's just say the occupation of veterinarian is a fading art."

"I … I don't need you to treat him," said Torn, still in disbelief that he was going to such extremes for a rat. "I just figured you might put a tube down his throat or something. I can't get him to eat."

Dash eyed the ottsel before taking him out. Looking Daxter over, he recognized that the animal had taken a swim in dark eco polluted water, and that he knew this ottsel, "Is this that kid's pet? Is this Jak's little hitchhiker he always carried on his shoulder?"

With a strong nod, Torn lead the medic over to his chair so that medic could sit down and exam the animal. Dash took the chair, noting that he was taking Torn's favorite chair, before he took the ottsel in hand. He examined it. It was breath slightly shallow, but it was warm, not cold like a dying animal. It looked to have had its fur cleaned up, and even though there was a slight gunk buildup in animal's eyes, he could tell that they had been thoroughly cleaned once or twice. Torn was taking good care of the pet, there was even warm milk and a dropper on the table.

"Well, it doesn't seem too far gone to need a feeding tube. Maybe he's just being stubborn. Here, let me see if I can get something down his throat. I don't know much about ottsels … but I have had experience with animals," said the Krimzon medic as he took up the dropper, cupping Daxter head in his free hand.

Torn tried not to stare to hard as he watched the medic finally get the ottsel's mouth open by pressing his thumb against the cheek where the jaw bone connected with the skull. He was a bit relieved when Dash took the eye dropper, pressing the milk down the Daxter's throat. Daxter gurgled slightly, a white film forming at his fuzzy mouth. Dash wasn't discouraged from trying to feed the small creature though, he merely took his thumb and started running it up and down the creature's throat while trying the milk again. Soon, with the Krimzon guard's help, Daxter was eating, a small little paw even latched to the doc's finger.

"There you go, fuzzy. Still got a little life in yah," said Dash, grinning as he signed for Torn to come forward. "Now, this is our milk, preservatives and such. I recommend that you get a hold of some fresh goat or yak milk if you can."

Torn, nodded, noting the soft grin on the medic's face, before stating, "I take it you like animals. You want it?"

The medic continued to grin as he glanced back inside at the other elf trying to feed Daxter. "No, not really. I already have enough mouths to feed, but you know what … I'm glad I came down."

Torn, confused by the comment, asked simply, "Why?"

"I never thought you could actually care for something that didn't personally benefit you … it's nice to be proven wrong from time to time," said the medical officer with a cunning grin as he put down the eye dropper down. Then he rose from Torn's chair, still finding it hard to believe he had even been allowed to sit in it. With the ease only a father could obtain from having raised a child or two, he managed to hand the ottsel back to its new owner; his frowning owner.

Then, knowing he wouldn't lose an arm from the action, he patted Torn on the shoulder. Like he expected … he didn't lose an arm. Grabbing his things with slow ease, Dash continued to walk towards the door, stopping only when he got to the first step. Throwing a gaze over his shoulder he stated, "You know, next time you call, I expect it to be something of bigger importance … like your next checkup. A man of your importance can't be taking chances after all."

Dash didn't look back to see Torn's surprised expression. Not that it mattered, right now his heart a little lighter. Recently, his two boys growing older and older, he was beginning to feel hopeless. His boys would be fighting the same battle he had been fighting soon enough; all his past actions would thus be meaningless. He wondered if it was even worth fighting for the Underground anymore. Just why was the Underground any better? Well, he got his answer tonight. Even Torn, a being he wondered if had lost his heart long ago, still knew an act of kindness which was a characteristic banished from the Baron's being long ago.

XXX

Paw07: Sorry about taking forever to update. I had a chapter all type up and after reading over it … I hated it. So, I rewrote it … twice. I'm very happy with it now. Also, please note that I refer to Daxter as it and animal a lot because that is how people view Daxter. To them he is a glorified pet that Jak taught to speak.


	4. Sleeping Beauty

Chapter 4: Sleeping Beauty

XXX

It was blue here: this no-land, this Utopia. Daxter wasn't complaining though. In this land he was both rodent and elf. He could still get around as if he were a small able-footed beast and yet he had an elf form with lanky limbs and sun-bathed clothing, pants included. He was no longer clumsy and certainly not scared for his life. It was a safe land, threats few and never deadly. It was also a young land, one of rocks and wind and trees. It was a land he had lost, found, and pieced together with his favorite memories as if the world were merely a collage of pieces of paper he had placed together with nothing but glue and longing.

He had been extra careful with one of those pieces in particular: Jak.

But no matter how many times he seemed to glue the pieces into place, things started to fade. Sandlot… Misty Island… the ocean. They started to become locked doors, things he could see but not really touch. He couldn't even smell the salty-sweet taste of the ocean that seemed to sting one's eyes at the same time. Despite being the creator of this false world, Daxter now knew why the lands faded… he was forgetting the finer details; those places were gone to him.

Jak's eyes lost their color first... and then his hair faded… and then his voice… and finally, his smell. Lastly, in a place where Daxter and Jak were still children playing on the crumbling bridge they were told not to cross, Daxter started ahead laughing at Jak because he had been faster than the other for once. His bare feet pounded until he was finally at the other end where he stomped on the soft grasses and turn around to mock a friend that seemed more a brother. There was nothing, no one. Just a swinging bridge and a whispering wind.

Jak had faded… like all the other things from Sandlot; things that were forever gone.

Daxter's eyes suddenly slammed open, his pupil still and unmoving as one of his small paws tightened and pulled on the fabric around him. He lay there, unmoving, as he tried to take it all in. He was in a dark place, light raining in from some holes above. He stared at the light, moving his head slightly. Where was he? What was going on? He was in Sandlot. He was with Jak. Where was Jak? Where was the bridge… no, wait.

He remembered now; he would never forget.

There was no longer a Jak or a Sandlot. There was just him. Why was there even a him? He had given up. He had been willing, tired, yet he was still here. He was still here. Daxter wasn't sure how long he laid there hoping the world would seep away with his inner misery, but the world kept crawling into his little square sanctuary, deny such a thing. There were voices, many. There was the smell of gun powder and sweat. The sound of heavy shoes and a swishing door opening every few minutes… and then there was a voice which occurred more often than anything else. It was a deep and grinding noise like gravel being stepped on underfoot. Daxter knew that sound but a part of him couldn't recall what it was.

Part of him was afraid of that noise, hated that noise. Another part was calmed by it, soft memories whispering in his ears.

Daxter's ears perked up in wonderment. What was he both scared of yet calmed by? A times he was both scared of and calmed by the new Jak. Despite feeling weak and tired, slightly hungry, Daxter tried listening more closely to the noise in order to understand it. It reminded him of when he was younger, staring at the ocean. It brought him peace yet at the same time he knew that if he went out too deep he would be eaten or drown. He missed Jak more than he could state. He wanted to cry and cry he would… only when he knew what it was that made him feel safe.

Rising his head, the small rodent noticed three other voices, women's voices, with the gravel-turning sound. Slowly, he pulled himself up to one of the box's holes to see what the world outside his sanctuary held.

…

The base was silent for the moment except for the hum of the light above Torn's head. The artificial light glinted off his hair making it look almost greasy as he went over the paper work on his desk. His snitch in the baron's armory had given him papers of a possible upgrade for all Krimzon Guard uniforms. He wasn't terrible happy about the news but at the moment they were just designs and nothing more. No plans had been made or prototypes had been created. It would be really costly if the baron went ahead with it, so Torn had hoped that the ruler would merely be cheap about such things and trash the plans.

There was a swooshing noise and despite himself the ex-guard groaned when the sound of clicking heals filled the Underground base.

Just. What. He Needed.

The Rosemary Sisters.

It was days like these that he wondered why he just didn't let the Baron capture him.

"Torn? You rang?" cooed the oldest sister, her form suddenly blocking the light above him. He didn't look up because he knew he'd just end up staring or worse … blushing. There had been more than one occasion that his face had all but ended up in one or the other sisters' cleavage. To say it simply, the Roselyn sisters were probably most noted not for their expertise in arson but for the gifts their mother gave them.

Still looking at his work, Torn started talking, "I'm surprised you got here on time, wearing high heels of all things."

The three sisters, who were now circled around him like three witches about a cauldron, were now smirking despite the ex-KG's attack on their choice of shoes. Taunting Torn was one of their favorite pastimes because, for such an emotionless man, he sure blushed a lot in their presence.

The red headed and oldest sister, Airen, leaned over the desk, her bosom finally falling into view. Torn tried to bury the blush that was just threatening to escape his cheeks. Really, what would any red-blooded elf do when he was suddenly surrounded by three ripened women you couldn't touch… and probably didn't want to; it was a well known fact that the sisters liked to fight over men.

"Torn… that wasn't very nice. I doubt you mock anyone else's cloths in the Underground. We just wanted to look nice for you."

Trying not to fall prey to the three banshees, "Yes, I'm sure it's all for me … and every single KG you pick pocketed this week."

Alice, the blond, cackled slightly as she continued to sit on the edge of his desk, "A girl's gotta fill her belly… now as much as I and my sisters may hope that you've finally decided to give up your hermit ways, we know you want something more from us that our explosive _attributes_."

Torn ignored the hermit remark and handed a folder to Airen.

"First off, nothing needs to be set on fire. I need you to intercept and retrieve some supplies and given your… clothes… I figured that you would be the best for this job. Now, here is the map. I need Airen here and Alice can be …"

Allie, the youngest sister, watched the older, male, elf drifted over the plan with a map as a visual aid. She, personally, was bored by the whole thing. She was more into the explosive part of the business than the charm. She, unlike her sisters, was not as good looking, kind of plain. She was observant though, a fast learner, and very curious.

In fact, she was observant enough to note the strange box on the table. Generally, the only thing Torn ever kept on his desk were maps and plans. Nothing else, except for his gun or knife, was allowed to stay planted on his work desk. Yet, here was this box with holes in the top, sitting there, taunting her.

Who was she to deny it?

Reaching forward with her painted nails, Allie snatched the box and sat on the corner of the desk, placing the box on her lap. Torn fell silent, his gaze automatically falling on the girl with the box. Part of him wanted to lash out and take the box from her yet another was silent, wary of showing connection to the thing inside it. True, he had nursed and cleaned the unresponsive thing for nearly a week, and it now bothered him just how protective he had become of Jak's pet. He actually cared what happened to it. He even found himself mumbling to the little thing from time to time and he felt calmed by its mere presence. Part of him wondered if he should get rid of Daxter now before he got too attached to the little beast.

…

Daxter, just as he was about peek out the hole, felt his world lift up. He fell on his butt quickly after when the world was set down, and then the light fell down onto him in one single, heavy, ray. Daxter, having not opened his eyes in days, lifted his paw to block his eyes from the harsh light. He couldn't see much… except for maybe an angel, a halo of light about her head.

Allie drew in a breath when he saw what was in the box. I-it was an Ottsel! She loved little animals. A squee couldn't help but escape her as she reached in and lifted the creature up for all to see. Daxter merely hung there, still blinded by the light.

"Torn! This is an ottsel! These are hard to find, even in the wild, and look at his cute little goggles. Ooh, were did you get him?" said Allie, silly smile on her face as she looked up at the older people in the room, all of whom were staring at her strangely.

Daxter hanged there a moment. At first he thought he was dead, surrounded by angels -busty angels - until he saw Torn. Nope. He was still alive and in hell. Torn was probably going to kill him like he had threatened to do so many times … because Jak … Jak was no longer here. Before he could noticed anything else about the situation or how far he was from the floor, Daxter started to panic. He needed to get out of here and so he started to thrash, the girl dropping him in shock alone.

There was a sickening thud, one that made all the adults twitch. Then there was a scurrying of scared little feet and before Torn could stop himself he found himself yelling at the girls, "Don't let him out. Get to the door."

The youngest sister with her bouncing caramel-red hair answered quickly to the demand, probably out of regret. The rest of the girls, sparing Torn a look, did as they were told. Soon it was a game of chase, all three adults making grabs for the rodent as he ran between their feet, Daxter dodging a collection of heels and a single pair of heavy boots. The Ottsel was near hysterical in a few minutes given that he couldn't get anywhere near the door, and apparently, it was rush hour at the Underground because two more pairs of boots soon joined in the game of chase.

"W-why … are … we … chasing … a … rat?" huffed Jinx, his breath heaving. He came to a halt and sat down on one of the beds, pulling out a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a long drag.

Torn slid past him a moment later, stealing the cigarette and glaring down at him, "Because I said so."

Jinx slowly let out his drag, smoke stirring around the two of them, "Fine … I don't know why though. I thought you hated that thing."

Torn gritted his teeth and growl, "Just get it."

For a moment, Jinx sat there, lit another cigarette and seemed to purposely disregard the other member's demand until, digging in one of his pockets, he pulled out a stick of dynamite. Torn all but choked as he rushed forward to grab the destructive tool from the fellow Underground member.

"What is wrong with you," stated Torn in a shocked way, his anger lost to pure confusion.

"You said you wanted it. Didn't say you wanted it be alive," replied Jinx, smiling wickedly.

"Torn," replied Alice, her brunet hair swinging as she slid around the corner of the bedpost, "he's trapped in the corner by the zoomer. Come on, let's get that little powder-puff, my ankles are killing me."

Daxter was panting, his little chest rising and falling as he hid under the zoomer that was perched on the floor. The smell of burnt fuel and oil leaked into his nostril. He was still a bit disorientated, he didn't even remember how he got here, but one thing was for sure … Torn was trying to kill him. He just needed someone to trip or just one straight run at the exit and he would be free. A hand suddenly lashed under the broken zoomer though and Daxter found himself grabbed. Before he knew it he was staring up at none other than Torn with his frightening glare and tattooed expression. He struggled immediately, his little paws clawing at the Underground agent's hand before he knew what he was doing. Then, noting that that wasn't working, he bit down on Torn's thumb; he found the ground rising to him meet him quickly.

There was another sickening thunk noise and Daxter established that he was on the floor. For a moment he remained there, disorientated, but then he saw Torn's hand descending once more and he panicked, running for the door … the door that had just opened, letting light down in the base. Daxter quickly dodged every pair of boots and heals, his destination unknown except for that he was heading for the light. He jumped through the "angel's" legs, catching a slight glimpse of her panties but not stalling to enjoy as he jumped each step as if it were a canyon. He could hear the growl of Torn behind him and the screech of one of the banshee ladies, but he was so close.

Three more steps.

Two more steps.

One more step.

Yet, just as his front paw touched the dirty street of the Haven, a shadow over fell him. He saw the flash of red, Krimzon Guard red. He was barely allowed a squeak when he was grabbed from behind by the scruff of his neck. He wanted to lash out but fear overcame his small form as he stared up at that expressionless mask. Since awakening he hadn't realized just how much he had relied on Jak for daily survival. Jak never needed him… he had always needed Jak. He was helpless without Jak… and soon he would be dead.

Dexter closed his eyes. At least he wouldn't be following far behind his dearest friend.

The blow never came; the bloom of pain never fell over his body; Death did not greet him. Instead, he heard a soft chuckle and the next thing he knew the light of the world fell away behind a door, and slowly he was cupped in both hands. He nearly bulked when he felt one of those armored fingers suddenly start to scratch behind his ear. W-what?

"Lose something?" said the KG as he stepped into Underground. Strangely enough, none of the Underground members started shooting. In fact, Torn looked slightly enraged … and not at Daxter.

"Diaz," growled Torn as he stepped forward, a thin film of sweat on his brow, "What did I tell you about calling ahead when you show up? Next time you might get shot dressed like that."

The KG scientist stopped petting the ottsel and instead removed his mask, revealing to Daxter who he was; it was the fool that offered to buy him a few weeks ago and the idiot that ultimately caused Jak's death up at the pumping station. Daxter found his teeth baring and if he had the ability he would have growled up at his present captor.

"That is the least of my concerns at the moment. Besides, it's not as if there is anyone here that would instinctively attack me; I didn't see Jak's usual stolen zoomer anywhere so I figured he wasn't here, yet his pet is so I'm sure he can't be far behind," said Diaz, his eyes wandering the Ungrounded for the green-haired elf. He really wanted to observe the dark-eco infected specimen. He had recently been put on a case that dealt with Dark eco cell-infusion. True, he doubted that his case would be as dark or as invasive as the experiments that had created the young elf, but that failed project still had something to offer: knowledge of how Jak was still stable. He had heard the rumor that everyone but that teen had died. And the ottsel…. he really wanted the ottsel. For some reason the little beast was unaffected by the dark eco that hung about Jak like a mist. Perhaps the rumor that dark-eco didn't effect ottsels was true, and it was worth study to say the least.

Torn closed his eyes for a moment, shook his head, and then stated in a slightly soft tone, "Jak was killed in the field, a few days ago."

The scientist was silent, his eyes going wide. Well, that was entirely too bad. He was even planning on spending more time around the Underground in order to observe the young science experiment gone haywire. A frown formed on his face, and he was about to start petting the ottsel out of mere frustration, but then he looked down. The ottsel. Well, it was no dark-eco infused elf, but it was rare and less likely to be questioned when he started showing his case-study results. After all, he doubted that a character like Torn would want an ottsel on his shoulder like Jak did.

"That's… too bad," said Diaz. Yes, it was too bad but he had the ottsel. Ottsels usually couldn't talk so well or observantly, so Daxter already had his attention in more than one way. He hadn't really talked to the specimen himself, but from what he heard from the other Underground members was that the ottsel had a large and _colorful_ vocabulary. It was true what they said: all clouds had a silver lining.

"He was a useful asset. I would say more, but I never really talked to him personally… except for that time he tried to kill me," added the KG scientist bitterly, "and that this ottsel was always in his company."

"Yah, now the pain in the behind is our problem," grumbled Torn as he turned away and walked to his desk where a box was on the floor; he picked it up with ease and quickly made himself over to the other elf, box outstretched. "Thanks for catching him. Now put him in the box."

The double agent merely pulled the ottsel closer to himself, soft smile overcoming his thin lips, "If he's really that much of a pain, I'll take him. I have some knowledge of small animals."

Daxter's ears immediately perked up and his attention turned to the Underground leader with a silent horror. Why was this KG freak asking Torn about his future prospects, his owner ship? No … no … no way! He was not Torn's, was he? Not that he really belong to anyone! True, to everyone it seemed that Daxter belonged to Jak, but Jak understood, played the part, but never _was_ the part. Daxter's ears wilted as the ex-KG looked down at him with a scrutinizing gaze.

Torn didn't even have to ask. He didn't even have to try and press the rat on anyone like he had been trying to do for days. Someone actually was asking to have it. Yet, he found himself stalling. Why wasn't he all but throwing the thing in Diaz's direction? Was it because of Sig – who still hadn't shown up and taken the thing like he had promised – or was it because he felt he owed Jak something? He didn't trust Diaz. Yes, his information was usually always flawless, but his information usually dealt with the scientific aspect of the Baron's rule. In other words, the information was useful but usually, ultimately, useless. Not that he was going to tell the double agent that. He needed the scientist like he needed Vin. Sometimes there were sensitive things that a warrior couldn't deal with. That, more than anything, was why he kept the slightly irritating scientist around.

He wasn't that special though.

Before Torn could really think it over, he pushed the box into the other elf's gut, stating in an impatient tone, "No. You can't have him. Jak would roll over in his grave if he knew I left the rat to an animal researcher. Put him in the box and then tell me why you are here."

…

Daxter had spent the rest of the day in the box, his ears folded down and his eyes down cast. Torn owned him, he was a pet now. A pet. The ottsel wanted to cry. He wanted to have a fit or at least curse up a storm. All he could do was sit there and mope. What was he to do now? He was alone and the two years that he had tried to survive without Jak were hard. True, he survived but even if he did make money, no one would take it. No one wanted to sell to a talking rat.

At least in Sandover people didn't seem to care: people still believed in magic and the unbelievable.

The room finally went silent, nothing but the sounds of shifting papers and Daxter's grumbling stomach. Jak had left him, again, but this time Daxter couldn't chase him down or even save him. A sniff escaped the ottsel, finally, and he found himself breaking down in tears. He had cried right after losing Jak but not since then. It had felt like little more than a dream; a dream that no longer felt like a dream. Reality had struck. Soon, little tears started to fall down his cheeks and he all but started to howl in agony.

His best friend was dead. There was no longer a dream for him to strive for: no Sandover or normalcy.

The shifting of paper stopped and Torn found his fingers falling towards his gun when the sound began, but he stopped. The sound seemed to be coming from the box that Daxter was in. For a second, the ex-KG considered ignoring the sound and he did for about a minute, thinking that the little rat was just trying to be irritating. The longer the sound continued though, the more obvious it was that the rat wasn't trying to bug him… the ottsel was crying.

Torn went stiff at the truth. He wasn't good with touchy-feely situations. He just didn't know how to react around it. It bothered him, but for some reason he knew he couldn't ignore it forever. Daxter was now his responsibility … until he could pawn him off on Sig that is. Sighing, Torn reached for the box and pulled it toward him. He looked back up at the entrance as if suspicious that someone was spying on him. No one was there. Then, placing the box on his lap, Torn opened the lid. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised when he saw the rodent sitting there all but weeping himself into oblivion. He stared, unsure of what to do It seemed rude to just watch but Daxter was an animal after all so he had no idea as to why he felt like he was intruding.

So he sat there, unsure as of what to do. The only thing he could think to do was something he had seen Jak do once when the teen was in the bunks, Daxter having fallen asleep on top of his owner. Torn took his index finger and wearily reached forward to itch behind the ottsel's ear. Daxter automatically twitched, his dewy eyes falling on Torn's face. With a slightly grimace, Torn wondered if he would have to start chasing the little beast again.

Instead, Daxter merely continued to stare at him, tears streaming down his fury face. The elf quickly grew uncomfortable under the gaze. It was a begging look. Not knowing what else to do, Torn went back to some advice given to him. Quickly, he remembered the apple he had hitched when walking through the bazaar. He quickly pulled it out the piece of fruit and his dagger. The rodent went stiff at the sight of the of the large knife, but as soon as Torn started to cut the apple, the skin of apple falling off like curls, a new look covered the ottsel's face. Yes, Torn was positive Daxter was hungry given that the rodent hadn't had solids in days and had not received any food since nearly escaping in the morning.

The little paws couldn't grab the piece of apple fast enough.

Torn sat there watching, a soft smile threatening to escape on his face as the weeping turned to hungry munching. True, there was sniffling here or there, but mostly the little rat was silent, allowing Torn to scratching behind the pet's ear from time to time.

Torn, despite himself, found himself smiling at the end of the night when the ottsel had fallen asleep, paws gripping at the clean rags in his box.

"Maybe having you around won't be so bad after all, you little rat," whispered Torn to himself as he stretched and went back to his maps. At least now he'd have some company on these late nights.

XXX

Paw07: Happy New Year my jollies. I couldn't quite remember how Jinx spoke so I winged it -was wrong - so I just didn't bother with his accent. XD


	5. Bugs and Bullets

Chapter 5: Bugs and Bullets

XXX

Torn always made sure he had apples in stock. He wasn't a fruit elf by any means. He liked meat and potatoes, but the rat… the rat liked fruits. Despite always feeding the ottsel its apples, it couldn't be denied that once in a while Daxter would still eye the ex-KG warily before taking the offered meal, but Torn found that he didn't mind the mist of distrust in the air. After all, almost a little under two weeks ago, he would have killed the pest if left alone with it.

Not that he would really label the ottsel as a pest anymore; Daxter rarely spoke. He'd hear the little beast whimper from time to time in his own dragging sorrows, but there was not a worried word from the rodent except a small thank you from time to time. Not that Torn was terribly heartbroken about the loss of orange lightning's wit. He was never a funny man, couldn't stand a fast tongue. In the end, fast witted words would offer an elf little assistance in survival when it came to gunshots or metalheads. In fact, it probably got them killed faster. Still, it was strange to have the rodent around with no snark comments echoing about the room like mosquitoes trapped in a jar.

Maybe the rat was pissed at him. It was rare for Torn to allow Daxter out of his box in the daytime especially after that little escape attempt earlier. So he wouldn't blame the rodent for being mad, but still, it was strange to have the rat around and not be irritated. For some reason, he felt a little bit of guilt swell up inside him. The rat was getting way to close to him yet he found himself unable to deny the traveling way of his digits and soon the lid of the box was opened.

It took a moment before a pair of beady eyes and glinting goggles were staring up at him, suspicious.

"You want to eat or not?" came Torn, his voice grinding like a stone gear in a calm and tired tone.

Daxter grumbled something to himself and, despite his paranoia of the elf in front of him, jumped out of the box with ease. He sat there a moment on his back hunches, ears back, staring at the Underground soldier. He didn't trust Torn. There was just some towering hill he couldn't rise above and travel onward from; yet, over the hill's magnificent height, he sensed something. It was like the purr of a lake or river. It was calming and cool, offering some sweet reminder of comfort like a day by the water's edge. He wanted to trust the feeling but at the same time he couldn't get over the stagnant air that seemed to surround the ex-KG like a frothy fog. Maybe Torn was planning on making a hat out of him after the elf fattened him up a little bit? Who knew.

In the end, his stomach decided his course of action. Daxter surged forward and halted in front of Torn on all fours like a begging pet. Not that he was terribly ashamed at this point; this had become somewhat of a routine.

Torn watched as the ottsel's fur shivered, dislike of being near him very evident despite the ottsel's dependency on the elf now. Observing this, the ex-KG's mind was quickly plagued in curious thoughts like a cup slowly being filled by a dripping faucet, yet he couldn't figure out why Daxter's recent actions bothered him. Then, as if the water's bonds finally broke, the water dripping over the sides of the glass and swirling down the drain, it occurred to him. His mind had somehow labeled Daxter as something more than a pet: an elf almost.

That was a strange thought. Daxter was a pet, a thing that needed a leash from time to time, and he needed to be treated as such or Daxter would try walking all over him… or hang on him in Jak's case.

Finding his confused thoughts lost to the drain, Torn took out his knife and started to remove the dress of pink skin that the apple wore. Daxter's eye lit up. He had never thought of it before but just how did Jak teach the little beast how to speak? It wasn't just a simplistic trick like one might teach to a mutt, the ottsels minds were much more developed than that; they had to deal with the ability to perceive something beyond the here and now. They were cursed with elves' saddest truth: the knowledge of an uncontrollable future.

"Such is the fate of elf," whispered Torn to himself as he finished pealing the apple, soft pink curls falling to the desk like lost petals. Daxter eyed each fallen piece of skin like a taunt before looking back up at Torn with a slight glare. The rodent wanted him to cut faster. The commander found himself smirking at the realization: _impatient_, _just like a child_.

Soon the apple was gutted and cut like a fine piece of meat, the 'organs' left over to the side to be thrown out: apparently Daxter didn't care for the core. Torn offered a slice to the rat, the fruit still between his thumb and forefinger yet, just as Daxter's little paw threaten to invade the sanctity of that slice of apple-flesh, Torn pulled away.

"Speak… then you can have the apple," said Torn simply, his hair reflecting in the fake light of the base as Daxter looked up in surprise.

W-what? Speak? What was he, a crocadog? Daxter found his eyes turning into slits, his upper lip rising slightly. Jak would have never demanded such a thing, never thought of him as a dog. The ottsel found himself slowly rising off all four. His little paws turned to fists, all thoughts of survival lost to the wind like remnants of ash. Instead, he found himself pointing a paw into the soldier's face, his tone deep and angry like a rabid beast, "I am not a pet! Not a pet! I am not a crocadog that you can teach tricks to! I am not a dumb lurker that needs to be caged and kept on a leash! Quit treating me like a helpless pet! You hear me, Torn? Orange Lightning is nobody's pet!"

Torn's eyes went wide for a moment, his sleepiness seemingly gone from his eyes. For a minute, Daxter's little chest rose as he panted, it seemed that the cold commander had been affected by the ottsel's words. Yet, slowly, an evil chuckle escaped the usual humorless elf and Daxter found his angry disposition drowning in a sea of confusion. Slowly, his angrily pointing finger started to falter and his ears fell back in distress.

"W-what's so funny," asked Daxter in a rising whisper.

Torn just continued to smile, his canines bearing. Then, as if ruffling a child's hair, the elf patted the ottsel's head, skewing his goggles in the process.

"See. Now that wasn't so hard, was it, rat?" said Torn as his chuckling collapsed into a wicked grin, the apple being placed into Daxter's paws like a treat. Daxter just continued to stare up at the commander as Torn took a bite out of his own piece of the apple, his attention turning back to his plans.

Daxter just continued to look up at the tattooed wonder, his emotions entwined. Should be angry? Upset? Humored? Jak use to play jokes like that on him when he was upset or silent. Should he look at it like that? Or should he be angry because Torn pushed him into pulling off a pet's trick. Jak hadn't thought of him as a pet though. This was not humorous… this was degrading. He had to get out of this place. Maybe he should start looking for Keira again… or even Samos. True, they were not Jak but at least they knew he wasn't a pet.

With a growl his stomach demanded attention. The ottsel felt almost angry enough to throw the slice at the tattooed wonder's head and then book it. He doubted he'd get very far though: the door was probably locked and Torn had this creepy way of watching out of the corner of his eye. No, he'd have to wait for an opportune moment. Maybe if he was lucky he could sneak into someone's provisions next time they left the Underground base or maybe, if the Precursors loved him, Torn would come back shot and he'd just bound out the door like a happy little camper.

That was a bit too much to ask for though. Daxter licked his fingers, his eyes going wide: when had he finished the apple off? He looked around himself as if he had dropped something. Had he really been that hungry? His stomach gave a little whine and stated sternly that, 'yes, it had been that hungry, and no, it was not done yet'. Daxter's ears fell. Why did the world hate him? If he asked Torn was most likely going to have him do a 'trick' again. Probably make him clean his gun or says something horrible like 'I want to be made into a fur hat'. Not happening.

It seems he'd just have to take what he wanted then.

The Underground soldier seemed preoccupied at the moment, anyway. All he wound have to do is rush forward, grab the remainder of the apple, jump to the floor, and crawl under one the bunks. He then would be gutted after consuming said apple. Ooh that sounds like fun. Yah. Loads. Oh well. Life is short. Daxter stood up to his full height, cracked his neck as if getting ready for a race, threw one last wary look at _dreadlocks_ and then bounded forward.

Yet, just as his paw was about to grasp his most wanted item, Torn's finger's lashed out and seized the ottsel by the back of his scruff. Despite himself, Daxter found his voice again, cursing the tattooed wonder in a colorful entourage of words.

"Let me go you tattooed freak! That hurts you know! How would like someone to grab you by your greasy dreadlocks and carry you around? Huh? HUH!" Daxter writhed and cursed some more, his small claws going above his head so that he could scratch those calloused fingers. His short claws merely met leather though. Apparently, ever since Daxter had tried to take a bite out of him, Torn had made it a habit to wear gloves when dealing with Daxter.

"Calm down, rat," stated Torn as he continued to observe Daxter, earlier humor no longer there. Daxter, despite himself, knew that struggling was useless and stopped twitching, his arms crossing over his chest as he started to brood. "That's a good, flea bitten rat," continued the grinding voice. "Ashelin told me to make sure I feed you solids once you were stronger. I, unlike Jak, will not be spoiling you; it made you fat. And unlike Jak's motto, you will make yourself useful around here or starve."

Fa-fat! The ladies loved him and Jak did not decide what he ate. He chose and Jak merely bought – sometimes stole - it. Baring his teeth, Daxter was about to have a 'touching moment' with one of Torn's tender ears when the elf dropped Daxter on the table and got up, grabbing something out of a nearby bag. It looked like a jar wi-with something twitching inside. No, lots of twitching things. Ewh... Ugh, were those bugs!?

Daxter squirmed away when the jar was suddenly placed in front of him, insects of many colors and forms clinging to the sides and staring at the ottsel with their many eyes. Daxter's ears fell back completely against his head as a disgusted expression filled his face. He looked up at Torn, pointing at the jar as he stated in a bothered voice, "Y-you're not thinking' what I think you're thinking', are you?"

"You make yourself useful or you starve around here. Either way, I need you thin and swift for upcoming missions. Preferably healthy, you're not exactly easily replaced," stated Torn as he continued to stand there staring down at the ottsel with a demanding gaze.

Daxter continued to hold his expression of disgust, his ears shifting in discomfort, "B-but they have lots of legs and are all _twitchy_."

"It's good for you," stated Torn simply, feeling like he was talking to a child.

"B-but they are alive a-and moving," said Daxter, crouching away from the jar as if it were toxic.

"Ottsels like bugs, especially live, crunchy, ones," stated Torn, a nasty smile threatening to cover his dry lips. Jak really did spoil the thing, didn't he? Well, a small being of Daxter's size would be extremely useful as a spy or saboteur so the rat wasn't going to get much of a choice in the matter. He'd stuff the bugs down the rodent's throat if he had to.

Daxter's ears drooped even more if it were possible. Torn now had a gleam in his eye and before Daxter could even scream and run away, Torn lashed out and grabbed Daxter by his scruff.

"No, no, no! I will not eat one of those squirming, disgusting, things and what did I say about holding me like this. Put me down you tattooed fre-ouch!" cried out Daxter as he grabbed at his nose, Torn having just flicked it.

"Don't call me that," grumbled the older elf, his hand falling towards the jar. "Now? Do you want this centipede looking thing or this beetle one?"

Daxter found himself looking at the insects Torn had just pointed too. He didn't know if it was just him, but did all these insects look like mini-metalheads but more disgusting? Squinting at the many-legged thing and then the green almost scarab-looking beetle, the ottsel frowned. The idea of many legs crawling down his throat made him want to gag yet the crunchy shell made his teeth shiver.

"Neither! Never! No way!"

"Beetle it is," stated the soldier as he managed to open the jar and close it before any of Daxter's other 'snacks' could escape. He held the green-shelled insect towards Daxter's face, its six legs wiggling about as it tried to grasp something. "Now … eat it."

Daxter squirmed, hissing, yet as the thing with its many weaving legs came closer and closer to the rodent's face, Daxter felt something in his gut that wasn't disgusted by the prospect of having to eat this thing. No-no! He was an elf, not an ottsel. He didn't want the squirmy thing! Turning his cheek, the beetle attached to his face. Daxter screamed as the little legs grabbed onto his face fur and held on. Torn dropped the rodent merely in surprise which quickly turned into an expression of irritance. Pathetic.

The elf sighed. That was defiantly a waste of his time, but at least it offered a small bit vengeful indulgence. It was the least the rat deserved after all the sarcastic comments the animal had thrown in his direction. Leaning back in his chair, the combatant was going to enjoy watching Daxter wrestle with a mere inset.

But, his game was short lived when his communicator buzzed like an ignorant bee drawing to near his long ears. As if thinking his eyes had laser beams, Torn glared at it. And glared at it. And glared at it some more for interrupting his show. It just continued ringing its irritating lullaby. Finally giving in, Torn allowed the caller to come through, "What is it?"

There was a moment of silence, and then as if a child shying away, a familiar accent filled the static, "Uh… Torn."

"Jinx?" came a reply, his voice glowering. He had sent the elf on a mission with explosive properties. His source assured him that Praxis still hadn't looked into making the upgraded armor, the plans still awaiting recognization from the busy blood-spiller, but due to the recent decrease in rebel activity, the baron now had the time. If the armor designs were passed, the Underground would literary go underground; six feet to be exact. So, after making careful plans – straight down to the shift change – Torn sent Jinx with hopes that he'd soon be seeing flames on the horizon, all the plans and probable prototypes devoured by the hungry blaze.

He knew the explosion wasn't supposed to take place for another hour, but Jinx wouldn't call him unless something had gone wrong.

"What happened?" said Torn, his teeth threatening to grind together.

"Well, you know those check points they have? I had to toss the goods, if you know what I mean. And I have a feeling I might be held up because this ride is _hot_," stated the smoker, his cool headedness still carrying in his vocals but tints of worry just threatening to crawl forward like a spider from its den.

Great. Not only was his explosive expert an idiot, he probably was going to get himself shot. That's exactly how he wanted to spend his evening, covered in blood and smacking a squirming Jinx because the fool wouldn't hold still while he was trying to sew up a gun shot. He'd just call Dash and let the medic smack him around. Yes, that sounded like an excellent idea.

Wrinkling his nose, the ex-KG stated, "What did I tell you about commandeering a ride?"

Jinx laughed in his throat, "Make sure it's a fast one."

"Exactly. I'll be heading over to the armory myself. Torn out."

Without even a second thought, the tattooed elf stood up and slammed his gun into his holster. He walked over to the nearby weapons closet, taking care to step over the ottsel that was rolling on the floor as he continued to try and get the bug off his face, and quickly pulled out some C4 along with a timer and switch. He didn't feel comfortable carrying the stuff around in his pocket, but at least it wasn't nitroglycerin. Then, packing a few more bullets for security's sake, Torn turned his gaze to the floor, opening his mouth to speak.

For a second, he just stood there in a stupor; is this what Jak dealt with every day? It was a wonder he wasn't as messed up as he was. Finally deciding he didn't care, Torn's gruff voice broke through the ottsel's screams as Daxter manage to pull the thing off his face and throw it under a nearby bunk where its shiny black eyes continued to watch the ottsel.

"I'm going out to do a mission. Don't leave, eat your bug, and if Jinx comes back here bleeding tell him to sew himself up," said Torn as he left, making sure to lock the doors. All members had keys so the only one it prohibited was Daxter.

Daxter heard the click as the door locked and he murmured to himself, "I hope you get shot. Now, where does he keep those extra keys?"

His eyes became slits as he rose to a standing position and his eyes scanned the room. His eyes automatically went to the weapon's closet that Torn had left open and bared. Well, there was more than one way to open a door and small explosives made excellent keys. Now, what shelf did Torn grab that stuff from? Daxter scratched his chin and decided he's just open all of them. Smiling wickedly, Daxter started jumping up the shelves, opening shelves like an excited pirate. Smiling, he started crawling up to the next set of shelves, but as a small paw reached up and blue little eyes peered over the top … something stared back.

With a whine in his throat, Daxter watched his reflection in the green beetle's eyes and before he could even steady himself, the bug attacked his face, causing the orange ottsel to fall to the floor in a screaming mass as he tried to pry it off his face.

…

Torn's boots echoed grimly in the silence of the skeleton halls of the Baron's armory. His ears were twitching with every trembling wind that dare snake through the seams of the building. He didn't feel prepared for this. He was a stealthy man but explosions were not his forte. Jinx was an idiot. Why was he surrounded by idiots?

_At least they aren't senseless murderers_, thought the elf to himself as he poked his nose around the corner, his shoulder's tightening as he watched a lone Krimzon guard turn the corner. This place was _infested_. Where was all this security coming from? He had the shift schedules so where were all these people coming from? His lip pulling into a sneer, Torn decided that perhaps he should find out exactly what was going on before he left. Maybe his Intel wasn't as loyal as he thought it was.

…

Torn found himself chafing in places he'd rather not say as he walked down the hall, his feet clanking as metal met metal like a dulled drum. When these Krimzon Guard uniforms become twice as uncomfortable? Maybe that was why guards were so easily agitated now days. He honestly couldn't blame them, there were some good men in the ranks that were just tired and sick of the metal skin they had to wear day in and out, but he doubted chafing was to blame for every single shoulder's actions.

The baron had infected them with his tainted lust for power.

It was days like this that he wished that Damas was still alive to stir a revolt from the people. He couldn't say he preferred the line of Mar, but at least he knew _hero_ was in their blood. He wouldn't dwell on that though. There were noises ahead as well as an ever brightening light like someone had set off a sun indoors. Even with the tinted lenses of the mask he now wore, Torn could tell it was deathly bright where he was heading, but not a white pearl kind of white that the sun would offer. It was more like a soft purple.

Then it hit him and he almost physically cringed back from the room ahead. It smelled like metalheads and polluted water all at the same time. But more than anything, the hot spicy sting in the air that burned one's nostrils, the smell reminded him of Jak. Jak, right after a hard battle, would come into the base and drag that ting with him. No, it wasn't gun powder or the ever common irony scent of blood: it was dark eco.

He almost stalled, recalling a memory that accompanied that smell. There had been a day when Torn had pushed the boy a little too hard and in a rage the boy's whole form seemed to spark as if he were the birthing place of lightning storms. Torn had actually taken a step back when he noticed Jak's eyes had started to turn an oxy-lost black. Jak must have known too, known his change was occurring, because he left as quickly as his legs could carry him. Torn would admit he never saw Dark Jak, but he knew its scent and he knew the number of Krimzon guards that had lost their life to that beast's rage that day.

Squinting as his eyes were assaulted, Torn swallowed. He almost regretted it a second later when his throat started to burn due to the intensity of the eco in the area.

He took a step forward, his form being washed-out with the haunted light from within that room. Yet, despite his want to squint or advert his gaze, Torn's eyes continued to get wider as if a purgatory had just opened its gate to him for a moment as a mocking gesture.

"N-no… couldn't be," came a gravely response, Torn's muscles tightening like a spring as it willed him to leave this place.

Before he could even listen to the demand of his legs, a hand fell on his shoulder nearly making him jump out of his borrowed armor. He stilled his feet though, knowing that any act of paranoia would cause suspicion in the real Krimzon Guard. He quickly turned and tried to glare down the other. The real red ribbon was not intimidated.

"What are you doing here?" came a muffled growl from behind the slightly taller red soldier, his mask glinting from the light in the room.

"Monitor patrol," stated Torn simply, his fingers tightening on his gun.

There was a silence, before the guard answered slowly, "Is that so? But you don't have clearance for this sector … you're not supposed to be here. Name and rank."

Shit…

XXX

Daxter gave a warrior scream as he slammed a cup over the bug, his breath shivering as he glared at the green little beast; the beetle putting up four of its legs as it tried to crawl up the glass.

"Huh! Thought you could get all up in orange lightning's face. Well, bug-boy, you ain't laying any eggs, committing bug suicide, or anything in my belly," barked the ottsel as it jumped off the table, walking back towards the weapon's closet. Maybe explosives were a bit too radical. A gun would do just as well.

It took him a few minutes to find a gun that he could actually lift, but he managed it nonetheless and soon he was glaring up the stairs. "Oh, we meet again, my rival," stated Daxter as he glared upwards. "You helped thwart my escape last time but you will not stop the Daxinator now."

With quick feet, Daxter started up the stairs, dragging the gun behind like dead weight. Soon there were only a few steps left to his crusade.

Three steps.

Two steps.

One… And the door opened of its own accord.

Daxter went stock still, his eyes going wide, and slowly, his head dragged upward to see who had thwarted his escape. Had one of the Underground members thought to come and babysit him while Torn was gone? Or was it Torn himself? Daxter's eye lids flickered and his pupils dilated, his little beating heart freezing behind its bone cage along with his breath as if a night breeze had taken it away. Before him stood a figure in red, a red death, a Krimzon Guard.

Daxter's whole form stiffened. That wasn't Diaz; no science-research tattoos. That meant that this was a real blood-bearing soldier. This Krimzon Guard had just found the base. The only question left now was if Daxter should start screaming now or later? Not that he really got to think about it when a choking noise escaped the soldier, the guard falling heavily against the side of the entrance, a hand going to his side. A muffled whine then escaped the soldier and before Daxter had time to even squeak the elf started to fall forward onto his knees.

The ottsel took a step back, his ears falling against his scalp. Okay, now that was strange. Why wasn't this guy… oh. The small creature then saw it dribble over the edge of the first step, flowing in a line downward on the cool concrete until it started to pool on the second step. It was the thickening life-giver: blood.

Before he could really question it though, the red armored elf tried to rise back to his feet but his legs gave up half way. Daxter wasn't even allowed a bat of his eye, when the elf started to fall down the stairs – shoulder first – Daxter trying to jump out of the way as the small hall filled itself with the clank of falling metal. It wasn't until the soldier hit his helm on the floor with a sickening clink that Daxter realized that he had a death grip on a seam in the armor and had fallen with the elf away from his escape hatch.

Daxter sat there a moment, fingers stiff, his lungs huffing. Why wasn't he a pancake right now? The Precursors probably just wanted him alive a little longer in order to taunt him. Oh how he hated them.

After wincing, the ottsel let go and looked at his fingers. They were stiff but still more than able to drag him up those stairs and out that door. Torn would find the idiot when he got back from his missions or the guy would call for help. He got here all by himself after all. That thought aside, with a bound, Daxter started forward towards freedom, yet just as he hopped up the first step he stalled, the night air hitting him as if slapping him.

Damn him and his conscience.

With a sigh, he turned around, mindful not to step in any of the blood droplets that now stained the floor like abandoned sap. He quickly jumped on the elf's chest and looked down at his mask.

"Hey buddy, you okay?" said Daxter, his furry forming leaning downward and one of his paws placing itself on the mask.

The elf groaned and moved his arm, trying to prop himself upward. The gurgle that escaped him was sickening and made Daxter's hair rise on end but it didn't stop the elf from trying to crawl forward towards the boxes of supplies against the opposite wall. The ottsel didn't try to stop him at first… until he noticed the thin trail of blood that was following after. Wringing his front paws together, Daxter jumped off the crawling elf and landed in front of him.

"Wooh, wooh, there buddy. Stop moving. I'll get it, champ, which box is it?" stated Daxter, part of him praying to hear Torn's or anybody's heavy boots coming down the steps. He would call someone but it wasn't like he had a personal communicator of his own.

A groan escaped the elf and slowly he pointed upwards towards a red box. Medical supplies, no surprise there. Not giving it a second thought, Daxter bound forward, crawling up the pile of boxes. He opened the specified box and stared at the collection of gloves, needles, pills; you name it. He turned a desperate look towards the elf's direction, ready to ask what he wanted. His breath fell out and refused to return, his lungs going still. The guy was still, his head on the floor as if praying to the ground he's soon be buried under. Daxter swallowed, grabbing some gauze. He jumped and ran up to the seemingly dead elf.

He patted the face mask and stated in a squeaky voice, "Hey, hey. Don't give up on me man. J-just hold on. I'm sure I saw a communicator in the weapon's closet."

There was no reply from the still soldier. Daxter swallowed, little paws starting to shake. Slowly, he put down the gauze and reached forward for the latches on the mask. Maybe he could see if the elf was breathing or even alive for that matter. It took a little bit of jerking but he finally got it off. He nearly dropped the mask on his toes when he saw who it was.

"T-torn?"

XXX

Paw07: I don't know if all the Underground members knew Damas was still alive or not, but I'm just guessing that it was mostly the Shadow's info since they didn't ask him to return after the Baron died. Feel free to correct me.

Also, yes, get use to the cliffhangers. I'm phenomenally good at them.


	6. Slippery Floors

Chapter 6: Slippery Floors

XXX

Daxter stood there, his small paws grasping the mask tightly. He listened to a shallow breath escape the elf and he swallowed when the next intake dragged longer than it should have. Torn was dying… and he was just standing there. Daxter started to stand on end at the realization. He had no love for Torn; the guy was quite simply an ass.

But Jak would never forgive him if he just stood there and watched.

It ached for a moment as his mind imagined Jak -not the monster he had became- but the silent Jak, standing next to him and glaring down, frown hard set. Daxter found himself looking upward despite the fact that he knew no one was there. It was just a shadow of a memory that faded each day, yet, looking up into those eyes, he realized… that even in death Jak was kinder than him. Even after he had been polluted, Jak was still a bigger hero than Daxter would ever be.

Despite himself, Daxter found himself hurt at the realization. When they had defeated Gol and Maia, he had felt like he was somewhat of a hero. In truth, he had been nothing but a riding parrot that spoke when Jak could not. He hadn't been a hero of any flavor those days. Perhaps, in amends, he should try something now.

Jak had wanted to save Haven, a city that detested him. Now Daxter would try and do the same. If that meant saving and putting up with gritty Torn, then so be it. It was the least he could do for Jak. It was the closest thing he could do to saying goodbye… or maybe he had merely become so depressed that his mind was now unknowingly setting him up for self-induced suicide missions. Eh, at least Jak would see the humor in it. Now where the heck was that communicator he had seen.

Feet rushing, he scampered up the shelves halting for a moment when he thought of the bug that had been attacking his face. He peeked over and warily eyed the shelf. Coast clear. And with that he ripped open a nearby shelf of odd and end tools. His fingers were fast and he even cut himself on a neglected blade in the drawer. It wasn't more than a nasty paper cut, but it still stung. Well, at least throwing the knife angrily across the room revealed the communicator. He knew why it was here now. It could no longer hover but it seemed to be in working condition.

Daxter pulled the thing down and called the last number he had seen Torn hail. Jinx was an idiot but at least he seemed to get injured enough that he would know what to do. It binged twice and Daxter almost had to cover his ears as a scream along with gunshot echoed through the speakers.

"Torn, this really isn't the time! Let's just say that the Baron's men must be bored because they're still chasing me! Usually they give up after I shoot a few of them!"

Well, this was certainly a fine predicament. All they needed now were a few rogue metalheads and this would be a perfect catastrophe. Daxter shook his head, bleeding happening now and complaining could occur later. "Jinx, Jinx! That you, firecracker."

There was a moment of silence. "Did you just call me firecracker? Who is this? Tess, is that you?"

"No! This is Daxter. I need your help!" yelled Daxter, shaking the communicator as he turned his head to look at the bleeding elf momentarily.

"Wooh, there. If you pissed Torn off and are now hiding in the rafters for your own safety, you're on your own, little buddy. I have problems of my own… Hey, move it. Get out of the way! I'm drivin' here!" cried Jinx as the sound of screaming filled the static. "Terrible drivers! Look, call his hair pretty or something… wait that's Tess. Uh, try it anyway. I got to…"

"Will you listen to me!" screamed Daxter, his eye twitching. "Torn's bleeding all over. I need someone over here!"

A choking noise, like someone swallowing their cigarette, filled the speaker, before the explosives expert cried out, "What! Why the hell are you calling me? Call Dash!"

"Call who?"

"Dash, the medic! Uh! How do you not know about him? Never mind, here's the frequency. Copy it and tell him there's an emergency at his second job!"

Jinx had hung up, gunfire still in the background. Daxter did as he was told and as he was told, his voice shaking as someone picked up, "Is this Dash?"

"Yes... who?"

"This is your other job. We need you at the office now! Hear me. Now!" all but screamed Daxter.

"Alright, alright, calm down," stated the voice that seemed familiar. "Give me a second."

There was some murmuring in the background, heavy breaths as if someone was running, and then the voice returned, seemingly more stressed as he spoke, "Who is this? I take it office meant the base. Is the patient there or bleeding in the gutter somewhere?"

"He's here … and it's Torn. H-he's bleeding all over…I-I'm here all alone," stated Daxter, his nervousness growing. He was not new to injuries; Jak and him came home covered in bruises and bloodied limbs more than once. But this… was more than he could ever get use to.

A small swear escaped the elf, and then he stated, "Alright? How's his pressure? Is he even breathing?"

"What?"

Dash shook his head, running past two other KGs who merely stepped out of his way, his medical tattoos showing easily to the other soldiers. He knew that he wouldn't attract any attention running down the street. It was not an uncommon occurrence around here for a rookie to –well– act like a rookie and shoot himself or something equally stupid. He wished it was something simple like a missing toe or a clipped ear, but Torn was the Second in Command. He was important, the Shadow acting little more like a shadow. As far as he was concerned, Torn was the true commander of this revolutionary group.

"Is he alive?" huffed the medic, his metal starting to chaff as his speed increased, part of him wondering if he should seize a citizen's zoomer.

"Duh, why else would I be calling you! I'd be having a party if he was dead," growled Daxter as his gaze once again shifted to the still elf.

"Not a fan, I take it. Do you see where he's bleeding?" asked the healer as he rushed forward, hitting into a citizen.

"The stomach, I think. He's kind of curled up and acting dead-like," replied Daxter, his feet making themselves over to the fallen soldier. "Yah, it's near his stomach. Probably ruined that six-pack of his."

As if. Torn was healthy but no weight-lifter. And for Precursors sake, couldn't he get a shoulder wound like everyone else?

"Get him on his back and put pressure on the wound, will you. I'll be there in four minutes. Dash, out!"

Daxter stood there, the speaker going mute leaving nothing but the whimper of static. Daxter glared at it and then to the adult, male, fully-armored elf. And how was he supposed to do that? He weighted about ten pounds. With that armor on, Torn probably weighed about two-hundred pounds. Yah, he was so getting Torn to lie on his back. He just as wells try and teach Lurkers table manners while he was at it.

…

Dash really should have commandeered some poor brutes' vehicle. Oh well, at least he got his exercise for the day but his legs nearly gave out on him as his feet heavily pounded the soft earth before the Underground's door. He had to stall, place his hands on his knees, and breathe for a little bit. Finally swallowing and willing away his oxygen deprivation, the red-clad medic stumbled to the door. He took a few rushed steps down the stairs but as he hit that fourth step towards the bottom, he stifled a yip as his boot slipped in something wet. His arms spread out as he started to fall, each one grasping desperately for traction on the walls, but he just continued to fall, his buttocks acting like a sled as he was swept down the rest of the stairs on his ass.

For a second, he just sat there at the bottom of the stairs in a collection of surprised and relief. What the heck did he…

Dash's thoughts stalled as he looked at the bottom of his boot. Despite the red coloring of his metal-skin, the medic could see the tell tale coloration of blood. It was a color that he had gotten use to over the years. He shook off the realization and quickly looked around. He saw Torn almost immediately, the elf's ears the only totem giving him away with that armor on. If it was any other situation, Dash might have taken the time to mock him.

Rising his feet, but careful of the thin smear across the floor, Dash's amber eyes searched for the caller, he cursed immediately. He had told the Underground member to put pressure on the wound! Torn might be dead! Quickly kneeling down on one knee and reaching between the thin crevice in the armor by the neck, Dash checked for a pulse. It was there.

"Is he still alive?"

With a sharp intake of breath, Dash almost grabbed for his shocker but he couldn't help but stall as he looked downward towards Torn's abdomen where two blue-lost eyes stared up at him. He almost had to cock his head and look at it from a different position to get what it was. Was that an ottsel… covered in blood?

"I-I couldn't get him completely on his back, but I did put pressure on the wound. I don't know if it was enough," stated Daxter weakly, not liking the shocked look in that elf's eyes. Had he been doing this wrong?

Dash sucked on his tongue, mind struggling to understand this. Then, like a slap to the back of the head, he stated, "Y-you're the sick ottsel from the other night … and you're talking."

Daxter pressed on the wound a little more, feeling the blood seep up through the gauze and pooling around his fingers. He wasn't sure what else to do. His greatest quality was his wit.

"Yah, I get that a lot. So, undertaker, you want to measure him for his grave or do something?" growled Daxter, his body shivering as his fur soaked up some more of Torn's blood.

Dash, still in shock that the thing could talk – having heard rumors but never believed it about Jak's pet – got on both of his knees and stated, "Just keep doing that. Those little paws are perfect given the tight joints in the armor. I need to get this stuff off first."

Racing, tripping, digging, fingers were quickly all over Torn's chest, removing pieces as if he were merely chipping thin ice off the top of a lake. Then, grabbing the red medical box, he slid on his knees and pressed Daxter off the wound so he could remove the last part of abdominal armor. He hissed slightly as if he were a leaking steam pipe once he got a good glance at the gorging wound, his gloved fingers diving into the bleeding cave. He felt around for a moment, seeing if it were an eco bullet, a piece of shrapnel, or a knife would; there was too much blood and not enough time to identify the wound correctly. Either way, there was nothing in there. His hand reached for some green eco immediately, the liquid form swishing as he popped the cap. He couldn't heal the wound completely with so little of the vital eco, but all he needed to do was stall some of the bleeding so he could clean out the wound and do a proper suture. But, as soon as he looked down at the wound again, he stalled, confusion covering his features as he stared at the wound.

"W-what's wrong?" whimpered Daxter from his perch on some discarded chest armor, his blood drenched form seeming thin and frail with all his hair matted down and sticking to his skin.

Dash, blood now leaching to his hands, stated simply, "There's dark eco in this wound."

…

Five hours of sleep really isn't that long considering he'd just nearly bled to death, but to Torn it felt as if someone had their hand in his gut, squeezing. He shifted, groaning slightly, making everyone that was in the base turn and look. Dash was to his feet first from the bunk he had taken up, Jinx and Sig both stopped going over the plans on the tattooed elf's desk and turned to look at the pained elf.

"What's wrong, cherry?" stated Sig, his eye turning towards the patient. He had finally got back from the shifting sands feeling defeated after he looked for Damas's son for a few day and look what he finds. A nearly dead Torn and an ottsel covered in blood. He'd smack Torn a good one if the elf hadn't already bled enough today.

"Someone keeps squeezing my kidneys," ground out Torn as he opened his eyes and grabbed for his gut, only to have Dash lash out and grabbed his hand.

"You're lucky to still have a matching set and don't grab at it. I don't need those stitches coming out especially since I don't think there's much blood left in you. I'd hate to be the person that mops this place... if it has ever been mopped?" stated Dash, eyeing the dinging headquarters and the remnants of blood still on the floor. "Remind me to give you a tetanus shot."

Torn coughed up a small chuckle, his fingers digging into the mattress below. Okay, maybe laughing when one's innards had just been sewn back inside you was not the brightest idea he ever had had.

Dash took his hand and slapped the slightly younger elf across the side of the head, "What did I say about pulling those stitches? Now, hold still while I check your abdomen. I want to make sure you're not bleeding out into your abdominal cavity."

The tattooed elf was about to try and crawl away, knowing Dash's probing fingers were not only uncomfortable but cold: it was as if he had fingers like snow lurker. The medic was faster though and Torn could only grind his teeth as the KG pressed his fingers down and checked the bandages for bleeding. They were dyed red alright, but it didn't seem to be growing. Dash didn't seem panicked either so Torn was sure that he must be fine. Well, fine as a guy that almost kicked it could be, that is.

The red-clad elf finished with a sigh, throwing the blanket back over Torn's shirtless chest. The medic then leaned forward to check something above his head and for the first time Torn realized that there was an on IV hanging down from the bunk. He always wondered why those hooks were there. There had been some nasty wounds in the Underground, but rarely ever did they need IV's with a green eco drip. He must have been off something bad. Not that he should be surprised. Even he had almost been positive he was going to die. In fact, why wasn't he? Had someone ran across him before he bled to death or did he call for help? Everything was rather blurry after he had been attacked by that … what had attacked him? It was in the lighted room, the guard attracted it, but it had been so fast.

"Why am I not dead?" finally asked Torn as he pushed that thought aside and watched Dash take out a needle and inject something – probably painkillers - into his eco drip. Why was he on a drip at all? Yah, he lost blood, but then why a slow drip? Was his body not channeling it properly? Green was an eco that almost everyone could use. "What happened?"

"Daxter stopped you from bleeding to death," stated Dash, simply.

Torn threw a look around the base. He was positive that he had seen the rat at the door, yet Daxter had saved him. He was perplexed. He was sure that the rat hated him. In fact, he found his tone sounding confused as he whispered, "You saved me… why?"

Daxter, who was on his table, wilted his ears as if ashamed, and then in a soft voice he stated, "It's what Jak would have done. It's what a hero would do."

He really didn't get to think over the reply though as his eyes lids started to drown his eyes in darkness, his body falling into a stirring slumber. Hmm, it hadn't been painkillers after all.

XXX

Paw07: I wrote the rough outline for this entire story the other day. By rough estimate, there will be fifteen chapters. Dang, there were supposed to be around seven. It's amazing how easily my imagination can run away without me. Hopefully, I can finish this sooner due to the strong outline though because I have other J&D stories I really, really, want to start working on. XD


	7. Sleeping Arrangements

Chapter 7: Sleeping Arrangements

XXX

Sig watched Torn's eyes close and the man passed out. He threw a look at Dash and then asked, "Chilipepper, why'd you put him under? I don't know about you, but I wanna know who did that to him and what they used."

Dash raised a brow and slowly rose to his feet, wiping his hands in a towel he had acquired. He walked over to the table and stole a tin cup from Jinx who gave a rather verbal complaint, the medic ignoring him, "His system has dark eco in it. I still don't know why he's not dead." The healer took a drink, held it in his mouth for a moment, and then spit it slowly back into the cup. He gave Jinx a questioned-disgusted look and asked, "What the hell was in that?"

Jinx took the cup, looked at it, took a sip much to the carnage of the other three Underground members, and said, "I'll never tell. It's my secret recipe."

"More like secret poison," murmured Dash as he turned his attention back to the Wastelander. "Sig is it? I don't really think we've met."

"Not officially an Underground member; plus, I spend a lot of time outside the walls. Now, why'd you put him under? If this weapon is as lethal as I think it is, chilipepper, we need to know about it," stated Sig as he placed both hands on the desk, other hand waving over the building plans of the armory.

"Well, I would have if he hadn't started to degrade," said Dash simply, his eyes becoming a glare as Jinx took out a cigarette. Jinx noticed the look but paid it little mind as he lit his next stick of contentment. Eyes remaining on the smoker, he continued, "For some reason, while Daxter was doing little more than sitting on him as he bled out on the floor, the dark eco was metabolizing at a slow rate, affecting his systems at a sustainable level, but now … well, whatever got into his body is hitting him hard. The strain on his kidneys is sign of that."

Everyone wilted at that, a moment hanging on a string as if everyone was just watching a bulb fall from a Christmas tree. Daxter's voice was the first to speak, as if he was the shattering ring, "So… the tattooed wonder is going to die?"

The ottsel didn't know why but he was slightly bothered at the thought. It wasn't that he had any special love for the nail-gurgler; it was just that Torn had become a constant. He offered a sense of stability and for an "owner" Torn at least didn't starve him, chain him, or beat him… severely.

Daxter didn't want to be pawned off anybody else anyway. Hell, he had been pawned off on Torn to begin with. It wasn't a flattering feeling, trust him.

"Don't worry there, cherry. Luckily for Torn I know a certain white-faced "gypsy" that might know how to save Torn's ass," said the Wastelander.

"Gypsy?" said the two other elves as they exchanged a look.

"Well she's into some really big voodoo," said Sig as an image of the healer came into his head, trotting around like she owned the place. Part of him hoped those feet of hers wouldn't wander into his mental memorial of all his favorite guns… that he had named. Not that he told anyone that his guns all had names and he sure wasn't going to tell a soul that his Peacemaker's name was Wynona.

"Great," said Dash as he grabbed his medical bag, placing his mask back over his face, "as promising as that sounds. I'm going to see if I can find some real medicine."

Jinx noticed the other two were getting ready to leave and his eyes got wide. No, he was not going to babysit Torn all night. He had plans: getting wasted and hitting on some lovely ladies. He had nearly died today and was not about to give that up.

"And I… have things to do," said Jinx, chugging the last of his drink before he suddenly sprinted up the stairs.

The two other elves looked at each other and then both looked at the sleeping elf. The same thought ran through their minds and both immediately shook their heads.

"No, I can't stay and watch him. I need to get him some real medicine," said the medic, irritance in his face.

Sig frowned and was about to retort when the medic, who was about a half-a-head shorter than the tall Wastelander, got near his face and growled, "You will stay here and watch him. I will be back in a day or two… dark eco medicine is hard to come by."

There was a tinge of disappointment and worry in his voice as he turned and stalked away, his heavy boots echoing on the rising stairs.

The large elf was still standing there in surprise. Despite himself, a smile dragged itself to his lips and he found himself chuckling. Healers always had guts, no matter their allegiances. For a moment, Daxter thought he'd have some other company besides old nail-swallower but Sig quickly slung his Peacemaker over his shoulder and gave Daxter one more parting look, stating, "Well, cherry, it was good to see you still alive. I had been worrying the whole while since I left you here with Torn. Half of me thought I might have to say goodbye to more than one friend this month."

Daxter was silent for a stalled drop in time, his paws wringing together, "You think of me as a friend?"

"Well of course I do, cherry. You and Jak saved my six more than once. Anyone that would endanger their life for mine is considered a friend," said Sig, nodding. "Now, part of me was thinking I had to come in here, guns blazing, and save your furry little ass. Seems not… in fact, from the way things look here you've made quite a spot for yourself down in this burrow of an underground. So much so, I'm not going to ask you to leave."

With one raised brow, Daxter asked, "What you talking about big, tall, and bulky?"

"I was going to ask you to join me out in the wasteland, second pair of eyes and a good joke from time to time," said Sig, smiling. "But your place is here. Someone's gotta make sure that idiot, Torn, doesn't get himself killed. You got me, kid? Well, I would stay but I'm going to find some medicine. Talk later, cherry," added Sig with a grin.

The ottsel watched him go and said nothing. Slowly, he made his way across the way, taking a leap upwards onto the cot that Torn was situated on. He eyed the elf for a moment, part of him wanting to punch the sucker in the face because he knew he could get away with it, and the other was a twisting coin that refused to choose his next course of action. In the end, he merely plopped down watching Torn's chest rise. His fingers twitched as a rush overcame him like that of a heartbeat, a heartbeat of dark eco.

His hair stood on end as memories of Dark Jak came to mind. Despite himself, he slowly laid his head down on Torn's chest, closing his eyes. If he ignored the obvious change in scent, he could imagine that it was just any other night and Jak and him had decided to bunk in the Underground.

He missed Jak, more than he could say.

XXX

Jak –young Jak- was running across the beach, stirring up seagulls. Dark Jak was building a sand castle to the left, smiling wickedly as he added a Metalhead gem to the top. A collection of KG all clapped at the marvelous sand-building stating that if Mars' tomb did exist, it would look like that. All three of the girls –and Errol- were all laid out and sun bathing. Samos was buried up to his head in sand by the Baron and it was overall fun.

A perfect dream world.

Daxter just watched, content. Part of him knew this wasn't real but another part just couldn't think of it as not-reality. So he ignored the thoughts, watching as Jak slid to a stop in front of the girls –and Errol- throwing sand on all of them. All four got up and started to chase him, young-Jak laughing silently.

"You should stop watching and do something, I need you," came a voice.

Daxter's ears fell back and he found himself looking upward, the form being blacked out by the sun that washed down on it. He didn't have to see the elf's face to know who it was.

"You don't have a voice," said Daxter all of a sudden.

Dark Jak merely looked down at him, cocking his head as he asked, "And you're supposed to be nothing more than a pet."

Daxter's lips captured a frown that held itself tight, refusing to leave. The real world was dragging itself into his dream, he was now a full ottsel in appearance when he had earlier been a halfing between elf and ottsel.

The ottsel turned his attention back to Dark Jak and to his surprise saw Torn glaring down at him, using Dark Jak's voice, "Well, you going to do anything?"

Then the darkness fell, washing away Jak, Dark Jak, the girls, Errol, and anyone else that had taken up inhabitance in his dream. There were voices though and the pumping of dark eco in tune with a heartbeat.

…

"I thought you called me here for a reason, Dash," came a voice that grated Torn's ears. He didn't know why but his dreamless sleep had been warm and painless, now he wanted to kill someone.

"Last night he had dark eco poisoning. Now the levels seemed to have tampered off. I can't explain it."

"Well I can, you're a terrible medic. Move, let me look at his vitals," said the grating voice. There was a moment of silence and then the grating voice sounded surprised. "Oh, the ottsel. Well, that might explain a lot."

"Explain what?" said the other voice; the one which didn't belong to the other two. The one voice that seemed kind yet held an air of respect to it. He knew the voice, he knew all the voices, yet he couldn't bring himself to care to a great degree to even open his eyes and see who.

It wasn't until the respectably-kind voice spoke again did he care to react, "Glad to see he is doing better. I can't afford to replace him… and what is this little fuzzy thing on his chest? I didn't think Torn was a pet kind of elf."

It was then that Torn felt a weight on his torso, warmth seeping down into his blanket. He could feel the thing's breathing as well as its very rat-like shaped. The little monster was sleeping on him! Big no, no! He had a reputation to uphold and some fuzzy rat using him a throw pillow would not do any favors to his prestigiously grouchy nature.

Despite the ache that still resided slightly in his kidneys and a breed of light headedness, Torn was sitting up so fast that there was a scream and a thud as Daxter went flying off his perch. There were surprised gasps and slight curses from the three other figures standing by his bedside. Torn's sight fell ignored them though and fell to the soft moaning on the floor, his glare set as the ottsel as Daxter rose to his feet, straightening his goggles.

"What the hell was that for, Jak? Give a guy a little...," Daxter's tongue caught in his throat as he looked upwards not to see Jak… but to see one fuming Torn, the elf's eyes practically burning into him. That wasn't what bothered him though. Torn was always glaring at it him like that. It was that he had confused the other elf with Jak. Was he forgetting his childhood friend so quickly?

Torn glared a moment more, wondering if he should threaten the thing. He really did need to keep his reputation but he decided to let it slide with just a warning. Jak had allowed the rat to sleep with him all the time so it was clear that the rat was spoiled. Twitching his upper lip, Torn growled slightly, "Don't ever sleep on me again. I don't need fleas."

"Fleas! I'll have you know that…" Daxter suddenly caught himself as four pairs of eyes landed on him. He knew all four pairs… one he hadn't seen in over two years. Something snapped in his little brain. Hope, hate, he wasn't sure, but before he could stop himself he jumped over the ailing elf on the bed and with small paws clutched the short elf by his shirt, growling, "Where have you been old, green, and crusty!"

The young Samos flailed backwards at the sudden invasion of his personal space but before Daxter knew it he was all but grabbed by the scruff of the neck. He would have protested that he wasn't a common animal and Samos knew it, but he was quickly handed over to a peeved looking Torn, and patted on the head like a household pet by the green eco master.

"Now, now, little ottsel. Don't jump on me. I don't have time to play with you. I came here to talk to Torn," the young-Samos then turned to the battered elf, paying no mind to the fact that Daxter was in a stunned silence, his ears down.

W-why had Samos just treated him like a-a pet?

"Torn, are you feeling better? I was worried that I would have to find a new Second in Command," said Samos as he eyed the last few ounces of the green eco infused IV.

"I could be better, but I think I'll live," grumbled the elf as he looked up at the Shadow, a steady hand the ottsel. Daxter was too still and why had he just acted like he knew Samos? He'd have to ask later but with the Commander here he had more pressing matters.

"Good, I need you to do a mission that only you can do," said the elf, poking the IV while holding a quizzical expression, "but only if you're up to it. The Krimzon guard seems to be moving something from the weapons building you were at and I need you to spy on it in order to tell me if it was the thing that attacked you a few days ago."

A few days? The tattooed elf gained a worried expression and asked worriedly, "How long have I been asleep?"

"We can only guess a day and a half after I knocked you out. Sig was supposed to be watching you but the waste of space abandoned your white ass. Luckily, nothing seemed to have gone wrong. In fact, I don't even know if I need to get you any dark eco medicine; you're body seems to be ridding your systems of it easily," said Dash, eyeing the IV as well before he turned and gave Diaz a silent look. Diaz said nothing but Torn couldn't help but have an itching feeling that those two weren't telling him something.

Turning his attention away from whatever secrets the two red-clad traitors wished to impose on each other, Torn looked Samos in the eye and answered simply, "I'll do it … If I can stand which I will test now. I really have to piss."

XXX

Paw07: A short chapter but I couldn't sleep –despite being sick- so I decided to throw this out for you guys.


	8. Pet Tricks

Chapter 8: Pet Tricks

…

Daxter was stuck. Not between a rock and a hard place like he had been ever since Jak, since he had been left behind. He was in a conflict of emotions. He really didn't care for Torn. The elf made his fur prickle and made him blush with rage from time to time. It was at times like that that Daxter was glad for fur. Jak had always mocked him for his red cheeks whenever he'd become enraged when they were children.

He missed those days in his youth. He missed the friend that knew him so well that he could read his every action and even accepted him for all his negative qualities.

He didn't want to lose another friend again. What bothered him was if he considered Torn a friend or not. The ottsel stood there a moment on the table, idly watching as the ex-KG got dressed, wincing every once in a while with bared teeth. Throwing his ears back, the ottsel fought with his emotions.

Was he trying to replace Jak with Mr. Nail-gurgler?

He didn't like that idea either. Well, he wasn't going to conflict his emotions. He wasn't an emotional type of elf anyway … well accept with the ladies. Nonetheless, part of him couldn't just let the half crippled elf go out on a dangerous mission half dead. He'd just tell himself he was doing it because Sig asked him to make sure that idiot didn't get himself killed.

Torn winced once more as he pulled on a hooded jacket pretending not to notice Daxter's stare. He needed a disguise that would hide his face and the tattoos upon it so he could wander the streets freely. He would never turn to make-up like Tess had offered more than once. Besides, he was cold … and in agony, a jacket would help. Not that the cold was going to stop him. If this new weapon could do this to him … what about the rest of the Underground members?

Taking a shaky breath, Torn stood there a moment. He had to get moving or he'd miss the distraction the Roselyn sisters had set up for him so he could investigate the cargo. Apparently, they had convinced a bunch of illegal underground racers to have their high speed shenanigans in the daylight and over the path that the cargo was going to be transposing through. There was going to be absolute chaos … and the only cool minded man there was going to be him. Now, if only he'd stop wincing. Ugh, his kidneys were on fire. He would not give in to the pain though.

The elf started forward, strapping a gun near his lower back. He hoped he wouldn't need it because he was really not in any shape to use it. Not that he really got to think about it when something suddenly ran up his leg, circled his torso, and finally stalled on his shoulder. It was so fast that he barely had time to take in a surprised and sickly gasp.

"Where we going, gruesome?" said Daxter as he adjusted himself to Torn's shoulder.

The elf blinked, his lip twitching automatically. It was the rat … on his shoulder. Part of him wanted to knock it off and be on his way, but something told him not to. Daxter had saved him. At least that was what everyone had told him at least, the rodent had made sure he hadn't bled out on the floor. Then there was the interaction with the Shadow. Daxter had acted like he had known him, but when Samos didn't return that acknowledgement; the rat had remained quiet, abnormally quiet. Daxter was not a quiet character and if Torn didn't have far more pressing manners, he'd try to figure out what was up.

He always had a feeling that there was more to Daxter then met the eye. Part of the reason he didn't like him at first. Jak was all upfront, angry and betrayed. Daxter was something more.

"Get off before I knock you off," growled the elf, his voice coming out weaker than he had meant it to.

If Daxter's confidence was affected by the threat, the ottsel didn't show it as he just stood up and leaned on the side of Torn's head, stating, "If your reaction time is any indicator there, rusty, I have nothin' to worry about. On the other hand, you're dead without me. You wouldn't see any tall, red, and nasties until they knocked you in the back of the head and put you in the Baron's prison."

Torn's lip twitched again at the ottsel's words. He'd hate to admit it but the rodent did have a point. His reaction time was slow and another pair of eyes would probably be the only thing keeping him from getting shot. Plus, there was the ottsel's size. Daxter's small form might get him places that Torn couldn't get to. In fact, a part of the elf always wondered why Jak didn't take advantage of that. Really, the rat could have snuck in, taken out the security systems by chewing on some wires in the walls and bam … mission complete.

But … Jak did have a way of spoiling the rat and doing everything the hard way. Probably why the kid was dead.

Sighing, Torn decided to let it be, growling, "If you give me fleas, you're a dead rat."

Daxter seemed unaffected by the threat because he merely knelt down and got a tight grip on Torn's shoulder. The ex-KG glared a moment more and then started up the stairs, the light drowning out his form as he stepped into the morning glow.

It was strange to have the rat on his shoulder at first, but as the bizarrely bright day continued to rain down on his shoulders he almost forgot that the ottsel was there. He felt stronger and almost found himself jogging forward with light hazardless steps. His feet were weightless, the ache was dissipating, and then there was a new dark flavor there in the back of his throat. It wasn't unpleasant but it kept making him wonder where his strength was coming from.

Not that he was going to dwell on it. He found the streets abnormally lacking of Krimzon Guards… until he got near the intercepting point. They were in hoards, like bees about a hive, and every single one of them wanting to sting. Torn's finger's itched and his hand kept going down to where he usually kept his gun on his leg in his holster, but he knew that if a weapon were to be worn like that he would be easily recognized. So, for today, he wore it on his back underneath his shirt, safety on. Getting shot in the ass sounded terribly unpleasant.

Swallowing, Torn looked up and down the street, the waterway gurgling not far off. He glanced about the metal walls and streets, the citizens in this area seemed better dressed. They smelled a lot better to. Torn wasn't sure how to feel about that. He was technically considered a slum-rat and the rodent on his shoulder wasn't disproving that typecast. Not that he had always been a slum-rat. He had had a nice apartment once and day cloths that didn't smell like sweat and blood, but that was gone now. He had given it all up for what he thought was right. Sometimes a small part of wondered why when the days became abnormally difficult…

The transport was already crossing through the area, a low-hanging ground zoomer with a walking escort. Shit! They weren't supposed to show up quite yet. How were they supposed to find what was in there if he didn't get the distraction in time. The Underground's survival might depend on his observations.

Daxter, who was on his shoulder this whole time, noticed the collection of expressions that covered the usually stoic and expressionless face of Torn. He looked at the situation as it unfolded before them.

"Calm down, nail-gurgler. Daxter is in the house, watch and learn," stated the rodent with a cheeky grin as he quickly made a decision. Then, without a moment of hesitation he started to strip, pulling off his garments that he wearily placed in Torn's hand.

Glaring at the older elf, he stated, "Don't lose my stuff. You have any idea how hard it is to find things in my size."

Torn eyed the stupid gloves and might have dropped them in disgust if the little rat hadn't revealed his redemption, words strangely calculating for something that was supposed to be only a pet.

"Now listen here, not-so-prince-charming, I'm going to use one of my greatest skills since I became… since I'm an ottsel," corrected the once-elf quickly, a stab of pain in his chest. For some reason he felt that it was better to be underestimated as nothing more than a rat then to be thought of as a freak and end up in worse shape in this world… like Jak. "Cute is a weakness of all elves. Now be amazed … and don't waste this distraction."

Not waiting for a reply, Daxter hopped down and forward, adding a little limp to his gallop as he headed for the KGs.

Behind him, Torn nearly had a coronary, breath held as his mind panicked. For some reason, he was afraid the rat was going to get himself hurt. Why he cared at all, he didn't know. He shouldn't care! But the ottsel might…

"Ahhh, look at it," cooed one of the leading Krimzon Guard whom suddenly leaned down and looked over Daxter, said ottsel currently holding one little paw up like it was injured while giving the biggest "cute" eyes he could. "Poor little thing. It looks hurt. My girl would love it."

… He was a complete genius was all Torn could thing as his lips slowly formed a ghost of a smile, which was significant since he rarely smiled. Smiling was something he had left behind in his youth or for moments of cruel satisfaction. But right now, he felt like a child pulling a prank.

But he really had to get his head out of the clouds. The KG party had stalled and he had an opportunity, the KG gathering around the leader who now had plucked up the ottsel and was coddling him. The rat was acting the part rather well, rubbing against the KG's mask, making adorable (adorable? What was wrong with him? Was he becoming soft?) little purring noises like a stupid beast. Regardless, he wasn't going to miss this opportunity.

Moving with a stealth that could only come from surviving countless metal head attacks, Torn moved forward towards the back of the cargo, the vehicle sinking a few inches as he climbed up to it. None of the guards, even the driver, seemed to notice.

"Ugh, don't let the thing rub against your face, it could give you something," complained the second guard, eyeing the rat with contempt.

The third guard, sounding far older than the younger two, huffed, "Regardless, it's a rat. Put it down. You don't want your girlfriend freaking out. She might not like something like… that."

The banter to keep the rat continued for a few more moments and almost took a playful tone when Daxter jumped onto one of their shoulder's and started purring in their ear. Torn, by this point had gotten the locks open silently without the driver noticing. It was with a grim satisfaction that he finally got the lid to pop open and slowly he lifted it, eyes popping from his slight cover under a tarp that cover the weapon from moment to moment to see if he had been spot. Yet… just as he flashed a light down into the box, catching a glint of metal, he heard the driver call out.

"Guys. Keep it or put it down," the driver pointed back to the package without looking at it though the three guardsmen followed his pointing finger for him, "this thing has a time stamp you know. Errol won't be… don't point your guns at me!"

It was too late, it was happening to quickly. Daxter had been the perfect distraction yet, just like that, the driver had driven the three KG toward the transport and even though the tarp hid Torn partially from sight, there were three different angles looking at him.

Well wasn't this a barrel full of gunpowder.

Jumping off the transport just as he heard the guns cock, Torn found himself taking cover behind the transport, part of him wondering if he wanted them to damage the weapon or not. He didn't want to get that stuff on him.

Luckily or unluckily depending on one's point of view on the subject, it seemed that someone in the group of KG's had some brains. Must have been the team leader.

"Fools, don't shoot! You'll damage the prototype!"

A collection of curses came from the guards and they all dropped their guns slightly at the same time. Instead, there was a drum of heavy feet and the sound of the city alarm going off which echoed down the street alerting any nearby guards.

Torn swore up a storm, noting that the guard on top the vehicle was staring down at him, probably flabbergasted by such words. The nail gurgler would never admit it, but if it was one thing being an old KG had taught him… it was how to swear.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" asked the driver, an awkward moment between them before the other three guards came around the corner yelling, Torn only had time to shrug as he jumped out of the way of the other guardsmen only to be butted in the back of the head by none other than the driver.

"Surrender and die!" yelled the three guards as they surrounded the falling elf.

The Underground commander fell to the earth with a huff, the wind being knocked out of him. Three guns were automatically pointed at his head, yet, just as the triggers were about to be pulled, the eldest figure put his hand out stalling the other two as he stated, "Stop, he wants him alive."

The KG to the left turned his head completely as he barked, "What? Why?"

The KG unit commander knelt forward and threw the hood off Torn's face, the Underground member wincing as if he struck instead of having part of his cover removed, baring his teeth at the armored elf's next words, "Because that is Torn, the traitor, and commander or the Underground. The Baron wants him alive for… interrogation and as a specimen."

Torn's eyes went wide, half wishing they had shot him because if that unit commander hadn't been wearing a mask, he was sure the elf would have been smiling. He wasn't going anywhere! Suddenly, remembering he had feet. He suddenly lashed out a harsh kick to one of the KG's ankles, the enemy crying out in pain as he suddenly slammed into his companion.

Torn took his chance, the soldiers distracted, rising to his feet and making a mad dash to the nearby stream of hover vehicles. He hoped to high hell that he wasn't so sore that he wouldn't be able to jump high enough to grab the tail of one of the vehicles and pull himself up.

Grunting, he jumped up trying not to wince as his injury was aggravated. Yet, so busy, trying to climb up, he didn't noticed that the unit commander was no longer distracted, rising his gun towards the escaping traitor. A shot at this distance in the back… may not kill him.

Taking aim, the old commander's finger slowly started to pull the trigger down, knowing only one shot was needed. Torn seemed… slow on his feet.

Daxter, who was pulling himself out of the pile of KGs, rubbed his furry head and hissed a swear word on his breath, the sun in his eyes. He blinked rising his hand to block out the sun only to notice that it was actually not the sun, but light glint off a raised gun which was pointed at… at…

"Oh no."

Living up to his name, Orange Lightning, the ottsel was suddenly leaping up the standing soldier's form and down the arm towards the pointed gun. He didn't waste a moment's hesitation biting into the gloved hand, right between the soft mesh that protected the hand. The old soldier hissed, his hand jerking and misfiring, hitting the vehicle next to the one Torn was trying to climb on, the other vehicle exploding. The explosion nearly threw the injured elf off but at least helped him find a reserve of desperate energy and he quickly grabbed the driver, pulling the man off as he pulled himself up.

Finally in the seat, Torn turned and was about to yell at Daxter to either hurry up or meet him at the base. What he saw stilled his tongue though, the rodent being thrown to the ground and then … stomped on.

He didn't know why, he had seen comrades die before, but the thought of his pet … no, companion… dying like that was unbearable. Reaching for the small weapon on his back, he pulled it and with a whip of his jacket aimed it at the KG. He shot the unit commander with far too much ease. It probably didn't kill the elf as he was thrown backwards but Torn didn't stop to check as the screams of reinforcements echoed in his ears. Instead, he pulled a cowboy move, tipping the zoomer just enough that he was able to get low enough to the ground and grab the ottsel as he sped past, shooting backwards once the ottsel was against his chest in hopes that he'd hit the weapon and it would explode.

Not that he was listening for the boom after a few shots. The only thing he could focus on was the shaking of his hands as he tried to control the rushing zoomer with its outrageous speeds. He was on the ground level, citizens screaming and KG's meeting a quick knockout by moving vehicle. He didn't want to be down this low, he didn't want to be racing at all. But he had to. Not because he was scared for himself… but the rat. The rat wasn't moving and even with the little beast stuffed against his shirt he could still feel the blood, pooling down his chest.

He couldn't lose Daxter just when he started to see the little rat as something more than a pet. He was a … friend.

…

Paw07: Umm, no excuse except I should never write the outline for every chapter or I'll bore myself. XD That's terrible, I know, but at least now I know that there are only around 7 more chapters and then I can proudly put the complete mark on this. I always feel so good when I finish something. So, no, I'm not abandoning stories… I just take breaks from them once in a while. Hopefully, I can spit the rest of the chapters out for this one without such a long break. :)


	9. Little Bird Bones

Chapter 9: Little Bird Bones

"Daxter… Daxter."

He couldn't open his eyes.

"Come on! Please don't … die! We are almost there and Sig … Sig would kill me."

Slowly, he stopped caring despite how desperate the voice was and allowed the world to fade away completely, a star swallowed by the darkness.

"Please don't go…" came a voice so softly, it seemed wrong for it. That voice was supposed to always been strong.

…

"_I like this better."_

_Dax, seemed to jump, his eyes widening and welcoming what had to be nightfall to his sight. He sat up, human form mostly, the sand clinging to his back. Slowly, he blinked, rubbing his eyes, confused. He was in Sandover, on the beach Jak and he used to play on, taunting lurkers. But… but who had. _

_He squeaked as Jak, but not normal Jak -Dark Jak-, leaned into his line of sight, leering._

_Surprised, he stated, "Dark Jak… but-but …"_

_Suddenly, the horned form growled his presence far more frightening in this dream now that the Sandover beach was dark, night having fallen and not one of the other forms or people he relied on there now. He even would have taken the dream form of the Baron or Errol. _

_He was alone… with Dark Jak and the eco freak wasn't as peaceful as the last time; he seemed … angry. _

_Before the dark elf could even lash out or yell, Daxter grabbed the other by his vest and added in a pathetic and sober tone as tears threaten to escape him, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I looked for you. I looked for you and… and I couldn't … find you."_

_Still angry, but claws not going for the younger elf's jugular, the dark figure bore his fangs before rising to his feet to overshadow the smaller form. His slowly forming smile was mocking as he sarcastically laughed, stating, "There's no excuse for abandoning and leaving us alone but," voice become a growl, "now you'll get to know firsthand how it is to be abandoned."_

And just like that, Daxter's eyes opened and the dream was swept under the rug once more, little lungs panting because Dark Jak seemed so real that he was positive he could smell the salt in the air. The ottsel quickly regretted the waking part though as he felt his lungs constrict. For some reason his whole body seemed to shiver with pain like he had been … stepped on. It was then that it all came back to him, the distraction that had gone wrong… and that heavy boot. He didn't even recall what happened after the boot came down, just that he shouldn't be alive and a voice had been desperate for him to wake.

Whimpering at the undoubtedly broken something in his chest, he started pressing at the sheets that he was balled up in. The smell was making him sick and he felt light headed. The smell in this place was wrong. Like ammonia and bleach … and eco. Not light fluffy amounts like in Sandover, heavy and concentrated like the really strong stuff they had in hospitals.

Slowly, he was finally able to pull himself out of the blanket grave and hissed at how abnormally bright it was.

For a minute or two, all he could do was blink. He seemed to be in a box. No. A cage: a metal one with bars.

Still disoriented, Daxter blinked and slowly reached forward, as if testing to see if the bars were real. Slowly, his fingers made contact and he shivered. T-this was real. He was in a cage. Why was he in a cage? Torn had put him in a shoe box when he had been sick last time, but not a cage! No. Torn might have thought of him as a pet but respected him enough not to put him in a cage like a mindless animal.

Right?

Right!

Sore ribs and a stiff leg were the only thing that kept him from throwing himself at the thin bars at this point, screaming he wanted an attorney or at least a metal cup to run against the bars. So he just wilted slightly and Daxter didn't think it could get any worse until suddenly, a shadow fell over him and the ottsel's heart sank as he recognized the face, the cage level to the height of an elf.

"Well, look who's awake," came a familiar voice. "Here I was worrying that when I'd finally managed to get my hands on you, you'd be dead."

Diaz…

The spy smiled and slowly unlocked with cage with a swipe of some type of key card. Then, with gloved fingers, he picked up the ottsel who was barely oriented enough to give a garbled, 'hey' though he went silent as one other KG scientist sudden appeared next to the other man.

"Uh, the specimen's still alive. Good. I was sure it was going to die. It was in bad shape though I doubt the owner would have given such a rare breed to you otherwise," stated the elf that had come up to Diaz, doctor's mask on and shifting with each word.

"Yes, I never thought he'd give him to me, but now that we have a male one… we can start working on dark eco theories and medicines. Though required, blood samples will have to wait," stated Diaz as he rubbed a finger in almost a comforting manner against Daxter's neck until the touch suddenly became a grip, the other hand's thumb pressing up Daxter's lip to look at his teeth.

"Besides the beating the ottsel got… he seems good. Bad diet though until he got his new owner, you can tell just by the changing color of his fur. It was slightly gray but now has a far more vibrant orange," stated Diaz, showing Daxter to the other.

The scientist nodded, "Yeah, I agree. The last owner really wanted to keep him, lots of good care. He told you he was even trying to press live insects into the diet?"

"Yeah. Now, let's put some nutrients and fluids into him and put him back under. Those bones are frail like a bird's. It's amazing it survived," stated the green eyed scientist as he walked away for a moment stating dully, "Hold his head still."

Before Daxter could properly digest what was happening to him, not that he had much coordination, the scruff of his neck was grabbed and if he had the strength he might have kicked and screamed as a large needle was pressed into his scruff. He didn't feel a lot, he must have been drugged already, barely even squeaking as the scruff was rubbed to make sure none of the fluids bubbled below the skin.

His eyes immediately become half masted and slowly he was placed back on what had to be a warming pad with his blanket, the unknown scientist whispering, "So who was the last owner?"

"Does it matter? He gave him to us after all."

XXX

Paw07: Umm, don't kill me. Run away while yelling, 'Sorry! Making it longer would ruin the suspense and I know how you all love cliffhangers!'


	10. Lost Keys

Chapter 10: Lost Keys

The world pressed into the back of Daxter's mind, his head fuzzy and heavy. He grumbled as he listened to heavy boots.

Damn that Torn. Was he wearing bricks or something just to wake him up?

The ottsel smiled in his sleep at the thought of Torn struggling to lift his legs, a brick tied to each foot which was then promptly followed by the image of nail gurgler sleeping with the fishes and seeming rather pissed about it. The once-elf chuckled to himself. Well, that would be one way to get rid of the noise in the future. Those heavy boots would sink to the bottom of the lake like a rock and no one would ever suspect him, a mere ottsel, of offing the ex-KG.

Just a minor day dream which started to seem less and less realistic as he started to wake, the pounding quickly sounded like more than one set of feet. It was more like two elves, or three or four. Just who was out there disturbing his sleep! Were they having a meeting? Really, it was too early for this shit and he was about to speak his mind.

"Do you have to have a meeting now, nails breath! An ottsel has to have his beauty sleep for the ladies!" Dax finally cried out, kicking at the blanket he was wrapped in furiously.

He hated it, hated it, when Jak would ball up in the sheets as if he was worried a scorpion or something would climb into bed with them. Yet, he soon wished he hadn't said a thing when suddenly there was the sound of silence and whispered surprised. Finally popping his head out, like a gopher out of its hole ready to see who had suddenly listened to him, Daxter regretted it.

With a look of horror, goggles' and clothing gone, his ears fell against his head and he stared as about five tattooed and lab-coated elves stared in at him. The world returned, whispering in her high pitched laughter which was little more than buzzing in his ear that he had not dreamed of merely being behind cage bars.

He was in a lab … surrounded by people who thought him even less than a rat.

He was a specimen.

The scientists, finally noting that Daxter wasn't going to say anymore, looked away as the fuzzy creature tripped out of his covers and into the back of his cage, baring his teeth slightly.

Diaz, who was finally revealed by the parting of his assistants, was sitting on a stool and working with what looked like a microscope, taking his time before he lifted his lab goggles to answer the others' varying but likewise question.

"No, I didn't teach him any tricks… must have been the last original master. Not that anyone can ask him…" stated Diaz giving Daxter a look. It was cold or calculated. Or perhaps it was more of a soft confusion, like he couldn't calculate if Daxter was so much of a beast that perhaps he had forgotten his old master already or was he more like a croc-a-dog and never forgot, sometimes dying soon after. Which, after talking to the underground's medic, Diaz had been surprised Daxter wasn't dead.

Thank Mar for that… the rat may think him cruel, Diaz knew from that glare, but this research was important. Ottsel, though heaven knows why, were not affected like most organisms when it came to dark eco. They were even more resilient than lurkers. The lurker tests went nowhere, of course, but there was still a chance to find the gene or at least the body chemical that fought of dark eco, or at least pacified it.

So many could be saved.

Perhaps that's why Jak died. The fates knew he had to do this.

Daxter was a beautiful specimen.

Suddenly noticing that he had been staring at Daxter with almost an obsessive look, the scientist turned to his lab assistants and frowned. A lot of them seemed apprehensive now to be dealing with a speaking specimen. It probably reminded a few of them of their lurker subjects or for a few … their elf subjects.

He suddenly found his voice, shaking some of the less excited genetics scientist and eco researchers from their musings, "Regardless, if he is strong enough to put up such a fight, he's in good enough health to give some blood."

A mousy young research assistant seemed to snapped to attention, her eyes going wide as if realizing why they were here again as she stated, "Yes. I'll get one."

Diaz waved her off, noticing the attention of Relli, an older genetics scientist whom asked with a pinched voice, "We were able to procure some _volunteers_ from the wastelands to search for more specimens. That way we will be able to use one as a controlled specimen as we test the others with levels of dark eco. In fact, if we are able to get a female we can try to separate or encourage certain genes in order to see if we can spot the gene more accurately and maybe in time we can do more than create a cure … we can implant the gene in elves and the death rate from dark poison would be less unwarranted."

Frowning, knowing that if Damas still ruled there would be no human testing at all when it came to genetically altering people, he nodded as he recalled who led them now, the Baron. Hadn't the once-warrior learned anything from his Dark Warrior Program? Jak was… had been a threat to be trifled with and he was the only responsive case that had still been mentally _competent_.

Most had to be put down if they survived at all.

Regardless, the elf was going to have his research be far more sound than _those_ scientists had been before offering his findings to the Baron. He was passionate of his work, this much would always be true which was why it had always been more important than ever having a wife or child. And that was the reason he had joined the Underground. Science could be a great or dangerous thing depending on how you respected it.

The Baron did not respect it.

Never would.

His work would be thought of as nothing more than a tool of war until the warlord was gone, and gone he would be.

Plus… the Underground did run across interesting things… like the ottsel.

Shaking his head, the head researcher stated, "Don't get ahead of yourself, Relli. One thing at a time. For all we know it has nothing to do with genetic adaption or resistance. Ottsel may just have a thin layer of fur that makes dark eco roll off like water, which … would be a wonderful discovery but I doubt the Krison Guard want to sign up to be … fuzzy."

The older woman was silent for a moment, as if seriously considering it until she got the punch line and laughed dully, stating in almost a bored tone, "Oh Diaz, you are _hilarious_. I doubt its anything so … simplistic, but you are right. I'm getting ahead of myself. Regardless, I better assist, Triggs. She looks to be having trouble. Probably because she never finished all of her studies in Zoology."

Diaz wanted to add, '_Because the Baron closed almost all of the colleges'_, but said nothing as the experienced scientist put down her digi-pad and head forward to a snarling, biting, and swearing ottsel.

"Let go of me you two handed … metal head lovers! Dax only likes being feeled up by _real_ ladies! Not you white-coated, tattooed freaks!" yelled Daxter and he squirmed, before biting the poor scientist that was trying to hold him still.

"Ouch!" cried a young assistant, Triggs, as she dropped Daxter, the ottsel falling onto a table with beakers and bunters. His eyes wide, Dax quickly looked for something to defend himself.

He had been threatened to be eaten time and time again but he had no idea what was going to happen to him here and that … was starting to scare him. Would they dose him day after day so he was incoherent, drug him with overfilled needles, make him eat bugs!

No … fucking … way. Torn was going to pay for this. _Pay_.

Eyes dancing over his temporary landing place, the ottsel's eyes widened with hope. On a tray were a variety of sharp tools that all looked like they had been made of warm Precursor metal. One looked like a surgery knives, the ones with the short but really sharp ends; scalpels he thought they might be called. True, it would only fit in the hand of an elf but Daxter knew he could wield it like a sword. Perhaps he could even keep the science freaks with their latex gloves back long enough that he could spot a way out.

Scurrying to his feet, hopping over Bunsen burners and loose lab notes and what looked like a sealed container of dark eco, the ottsel made his way for a means to defend. Yet, just when he was one bound away from the surgery tray, a pair of leather gloves were suddenly upon him with one hand grabbing the scruff in the back of his neck while the other one caused him to wince and squeak like a mouse that had just been stepped on.

His ribs still hurt. In fact, everything hurt, but mostly his trust.

_Torn had done this to him. _

"Careful," stated Triggs. "We might have kept him under for a week or two for his safety with some green eco treatments but those wounds could still be aggravated."

Relli frowned and loosened her grip, Daxter gasping for breath as he started clawing at the glove that held him though a part of him knew it was pretty much hopeless. The younger scientist that had been holding him didn't have a good grip. This woman… she knew how to hold animals, and though Daxter never thought of himself as a rat but he would always understand that he … looked like one.

"Fine… grab the needle. Let's make this quick. I think our ottsel may make another escape attempt," said the tattooed scientist as she walked over to a table with a light over it, holding Daxter on the clean, smooth surface as the younger woman walked out of his line of sight. When she came back … well, his heart nearly stopped.

"W-what is that!"

Pulling on a face mask, which only made her seem less elf-like, she stated with a muffled voice, "Now hold him still. Is the back of the neck the best place to get a sample?"

"Yes."

Reality suddenly struck home as she brought the sharp tool closer and closer. Daxter flailed, screaming obscenity as the needle drew closer and closer and truthfully the moment it pierced his fur it didn't hurt as much as he thought but it hurt his pride more than anything. He could talk but because he was still considered an animal… it didn't matter.

He felt as helpless as the first day when Jak died.

"That's a good boy," said the young assistant as she rubbed the back of his neck, stating, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Too proud to allow the tears of rage to gather in his eyes, the ottsel stated, "I'm not a pet! Let go!"

Finally see a peek of flesh on his captures wrist as the two women left their guard down, Daxter took his chance, using his flexibility to turn and craw her. The older woman grunted and released him almost immediately, blood dribbling down her wrist as she bared her teeth. He fell to the table with a heavy whop, his breath knocked out of him only for a moment before he found himself scratching for some surface to propel himself forward and before he knew it he was heading for the nearest looking exit, screams of 'catch him' following after.

He knew he should have waited, bided his time, but he remembered Jak's cries at night, nightmares from his time in the Baron's prison. Jak never offered any details but the things they did to him… Daxter wasn't going to wait for them to do to him what they did to Jak.

Never.

He didn't know if it was dumb luck or someone's underestimation of the 'dumb ' test subject or maybe he had just scared the guard at the door. Regardless, all he had to do was find the nearest air duct and he would be Scott free. He had done it once for Jak… he could do it for himself.

Fate was a trickle mistress though, rolling people under her wheel the moment they saw the top of their hope and she had some pointy boots.

Daxter hope was quickly dashed suddenly as he felt a sudden weight come down on his tail, the locomotion he had been in sending his hope into a nose dive as he hit his jaw.

For a moment he expected his mouth to fill with blood, having bitten his tongue or something, but in his worry that was the least of his problems when he turned his head and saw something that filled his stomach with dread. A spiky boot … a red one. Daxter's gaze went upward thought he already knew who it belonged to due to some dirty racing.

Erol grinned at his captured prize and for the first time Daxter was silent, uncertain of what to say like when he was young, before he had to become the voice for two people. It was just that those eyes, their glare cool and dominating, had never been directly pointed at him. It was like a snake or maybe even a metal head that had had its eyes stolen and died a haunting yellow: hungry and vengeful.

"Well, well, well … looks like the science division is having trouble keep ahold of its … pests," stated the KG Commander as he slowly leaned down and grabbed Daxter by his scruff, an action the ottsel was coming to detest.

Diaz, who looked slightly winded, having tried to run after the little ottsel, slid to a stop with wide eyes in front of Erol whom had a small entourage of fully armored KG behind him. The KG commander, who had his racing gloves on so he wouldn't be effected by Daxter's attempts to claw at the detested elf, held the ottsel outward.

"Is this yours," asked the blond elf smoothly, predatory.

Diaz, thought he wouldn't admitted it to anyone but himself, was scared of Erol as if he were a metal head that had somehow gained human skin to wear and no one knew it but him.

"Y-yes. Thank you," gloved hands, longer sleeves now that he understood Daxter would be anything but a complementary specimen, "Give him to me. We'll have to be wearier when taking him out of his cage."

Erol, who had pulled Daxter up to his eye level but far enough away that the ottsel couldn't claw out his eyes, frowned and stated, "See that you do. I might not be able to distinguish if it's a bug or not next time I see it and it might be stepped on."

Diaz, worried of losing a hard to earn specimen, reached his hands forward in almost a cupping manner as he stated, "Of course, but mind this _pest_… the Baron is looking forward to possible success of my research and you don't want for him to become upset, _right_?"

Erol's eyes almost became a glare, the tension between the guards and the science division ever present, and right when Daxter bum was about to be placed in the scientist's hands the racer pulled away as if suddenly noticing something familiar about Daxter, a crooked grin suddenly devouring one side of his face.

"This rat looks familiar."

Diaz's eyes became slits, his words almost dry as he added, "What do you mean, familiar? It's an ottsel, not a suspect."

Cocking his head, lips spreading into a knowing smile, Erol continued, "Yes, well he isn't … but there is an elf. No. No. That's not correct. _Monster_. He has a rat just like this on his shoulder… far more irritating though. Can't shut up."

Diaz swallowed, fearing that all his hard work and his manipulation of Torn would be for not.

"But… this one's rather quiet."

Daxter was biting his lip, his face hot and tears gathering in his eyes, he was so enraged. These bastards. These bastards! He didn't know if he should be mad because he was being treated like a common pet turn project or because he was so helpless without Jak.

Yet, just as Daxter was placed in his newest host's hands, Daiz cupping him sternly but also protectively towards his chest, Daxter spit out, "Fuck you, pretty boy."

Despite the horrored look on Daiz's face that followed, Erol chuckled softly as if humored and not the least bit surprised.

"You're one to talk about being fucked. You're the lab rat," Erol mocked, smiling, not even bothered that Diaz had forced Daxter into a smaller ball as if thinking the action would keep his project silent. "But tell me … how long has your Master been dead by the way?"

Daxter, not knowing if he should be comforted by the way Diaz was sheltering him or not, bit back thought it almost came out as a whisper, "I have no Master!"

… _I only had friends. _

XXX

Paw07: Eh, sorry… haven't been giving this story much attention because I've been butchering the main characters' characterization and I hate stories like that, but I don't have time to replay all the games to regain the essence of Daxter and Torn...


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